10 Chapters of Chapter Ones
by Momma Lici
Summary: Idea stolen from Bittersweet Alias. You have a two months to decide on which story I put up next, long/short updates. Leave a review with your answer, m'kay? Mature for a few, so be aware. Mostly Slash, too.
1. Envy Green, Love Red

Zim sneered at the human-flesh bugs, his skin crawling with the unpleasant way they rubbed all along his body without a care. Thankfully, Zim's backpack kept him from loosing his control and slipping back into Irken green when his mental processors wanted to short out. He flinched harshly when a woman near groped him and scuttled far away as fast as he could. A soft small hand caught him and pulled him into a store front, his contact blue eyes raking over his . . . savior.

Zim stopped the sneer, his lip not quite curling but the small fleshy human—it might have been male, but he wasn't sure—saw it and cringed away as if waiting for a blow. "I'm sorry," the British accented boy—that voice could not belong to a female—said with a soft sadness. "I was just trying to help you out. I sorta understand since that kind of stuff generally happens to me too often to count."

Zim blinked. "What?"

The boy blinked back. "The groping. I hate when it happens to me, but if you're fine with it . . ." He finally looked up and Zim had to stop his gasp. His eyes. Eyes so green that the color of the Earthen grass and Irken skin paled in comparison. Zim had never seen such a color on any human that wasn't a book or cartoon character.

"N-no, no. I detest being mauled without my permission." Zim stepped back out of the human boy's personal area and looked around. "But I am . . . somewhat lost. I am looking for clothes but these shops," he sneered at the very thought of buying clothing from these pushy vendors, clothes that were too restricting and claustrophobic. "Let us say that they are inadequate for my needs."

The boy grinned. "Well, then, maybe I can help you. I'm Harry."

Zim returned the gesture a little more stiffly. "Zim."

Harry grinned wider and pushed his hideous black framed glasses back up on his nose. "So . . . what kind of clothing are you looking for. From the looks of it, you would be better off finding one of the specialty shops for teen rebellions and anarchy."

Zim's face split in half with his "evil" grin. "I like the sound of that. But . . . It's nothing restrictive, is it?" he asked with a frown. He hated closed up tops and shirts. Only cotton and mild forms of synthetic fabrics didn't burn his skin . . . though silk was really nice. Just impractical.

Harry grinned lopsidedly, his hair falling in a short tangle revealing a small scar in a peculiar shape. "As long as the fabrics are natural, I may be able to wear it." Zim had long since given up keeping things like this secret. As it turns out, the more humans that knew his inability to wear synthesized clothing due to a severe and unusual "allergy", the more he was able to get from them. Harry nodded, his eyes unfocused as he thought silently. He opened his mouth to say something when a largely obese male came up behind him.

"Harry, get outta here, man. Mum is having kittens and Dad is super pissed. I don't know what set them off, but I'll tell them something," the teen said in a rush. Harry looked up – and up and up – to the taller male.

"Thanks, Dudley. How's the necklace holding up? And the earrings we gave Aunt Petunia?" Dudley tugged on the thin cord around his neck that, until seconds ago, had not been visible. If Zim had been a human he would have thought he had over-looked it. Being Irken, he had been trained to notice things out of place. The tingling accompanied by the necklace revealing itself set his perimeter alarms off.

"The necklace might need a replacement soon, and Mum never takes out the earrings . . . but I'm worried. There's an Autumn Ball at the YMCA and she's gonna insist on wearing her big gems." Harry nodded and patted Dudley on his arm.

"Alright, cousin. I'll ask Bill, Fred and George to replace the necklace and add a large shiny bracelet for Auntie to wear. I doubt Vernon could do anything, but better safe than sorry. Be careful, I'm not going to be able to buffer the sounds."

Dudley just nodded before moving on, his face slipping into a mean unintelligent look. Zim found the transformation fascinating. Harry beside him held out his hand, a soft look on his face. Not even thinking about it, Zim took the hand and felt the same tingle go up his arm, the same as when the giant boy had held his necklace into view. Only, this one was followed by another tingle that had nothing to do with whatever had bothered him before. Harry looked at him with a sharp expression that smoothed out as he tugged a slightly punch-drunk Zim along.

"You're not human, are you?" Harry murmured with a light dawning in his brilliant green eyes. "That's why you felt . . . odd. Not in a bad way, though." Zim shook his head, Harry's words making him freeze up. He tried to tug his hand back but the little black-pelted human beast wouldn't let go. The smile of understanding made Zim wonder just how knowing this child could be.

"You will not tell anyone," Zim stated in an order that had Harry scowling.

"I know that! I may look little and stupid, but I'm far from young or an idiot. I may include myself in moronic activities at times, but with a good head on my shoulders and a brilliant young witch at my side." Harry near growled at Zim making him raise one fake eyebrow. "_And_ I do not like orders. Any kind. So don't get used to ordering me around, Zim," he snarled without too much heat.

Again he led on, Zim being tugged along like a bob on a fishing line. Zim felt mild humor run through him. Other than revulsion and spite, he hadn't had any true or good emotions messing with his ability to hide here on Earth. Now this little dirt-child had him wanting to do things . . . it was quite bizarre.

"Where are we going, Harry?"

Harry looked over his shoulder grinning. "In from America is this little shop called _Hot Topic_. I think you might like it, really." He stopped as a group of Asian school girls bustled through, their insipid conversations making Zim roll his eyes. What he wouldn't give to not know a language of this insipid little mud ball sometimes. Though his height was one of the good things to come out of it. Less gravity, less pull on his bones, the more he grew and the better his bones adapted to the environment. It had been an Irk sent blessing that he had been so young when sent to this world.

Harry stopped short, Zim plowing into his back and near knocking Harry over. The shorter teen was stiff with terror, the kind that an Irken or wild beast can taste in the air from their prey. Zim looked to where Harry was staring so hard to see a woman with a horse-like face baring down on them. If Zim didn't know better and hadn't seen the color of her pallid skin, he would say she was a Tragorn fem. Deciding that Harry was at the very least a decent human with a good sense to him for figuring out that Zim wasn't human, the alien endeavored to save him from the righteous fury on the woman's face.

"I have an idea, Harry," Zim whispered into his ear. Harry looked back at him, his glasses slipping further off his nose. Zim took the beastly contraption and stuffed it in his sub-pocket. "It might hurt, but I can maybe help you hide your face in any crowd."

Harry's eyes widened, his breath sharp and fast in his chest as he tried to not hyperventilate. He wasn't succeeding yet. "What? What do I do?"

Zim tugged Harry to the side of the traffic flow, running his long fingers through the hair of the human teen trembling in his arms. Just what would make this human child so afraid of such a tiny and somewhat ugly human fem? "Look at me, Harry." He looked down with his blue contacts into soft fearful eyes that held a look of trust he hadn't ever received by his own virtue. "I'm going to give you what you humans call a kiss, but it's more than that. It is a mild transfusion of my essence for yours and it _will_ affect your body in unusual ways. I have never done this with a human, and only once with an alien being. It might hurt, it might break down your molecular structure and rebuild it, but it will change you enough that identifying you should be more difficult."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His eyes sought Zim's as he pressed his lips together for just a moment. "I . . . yes, do it. Change me."

Zim took a breath and then pulled Harry closer, his mouth closing over the soft one of the human. His lips moved slowly, Harry following tentatively as he tried to copy Zim. His tongue coming out to touch the seam of the lips, Harry gasped and Zim filled his mouth. The transfer would take seconds, but Zim could tell it was going to take more than a few measly seconds to distract the human fem. Mentally commanding his Pack, he sent out a few marble-like cameras that should bowl the woman over . . . or a passerby, but it would move her attention from Harry for a short while.

Harry held tightly to Zim, his mind blank with a strange numbing pleasure. This was a first, his first French kiss and the feeling of stifling arousal that made him moan into the exchange. Zim's essence filled his mouth and poured down his throat like ambrosia, Harry's body taking it in with ease. Zim was receiving some of his own essence, a little trickling in against the flood that Zim was producing. Harry's tongue slipped into Zim's mouth, the muscle getting cut on one of the sharp razor teeth and making him blink in mild curiosity. Not even Veela, werewolves, or vampires had razor teeth. Just what was Zim?

Zim felt the blood fill his mouth and he pulled back, his hand over his lips as he forced himself to swallow the _unusual_ offering. If he was half honest with himself, he would say that he actually enjoyed the taste of the crimson fluid as the boy panted for air. If all humans tasted like that, he might have to do that more often . . . maybe. Or just with this human that he knew tasted good.

"Harry!"

The shriek of a banshee creature had Zim cringing along with his human Harry. Zim looked to see the horse woman standing there with people laying in the floor behind her, her hands on her hips as she near flared with rage and anger. Zim held Harry close, feeling the boy's body slowly changing, moving and becoming slightly softer to the touch, the hair curling around Zim's finger instead of sticking up towards the sky of its own violation. The face when Zim looked had shifted to another person's and the eyes had changed shape from a cat-like tilt to large round globes of shimmery cuteness that made even the hardened bastard of an alien – AKA Zim the Irken – want to coo.

"Harry! What are you doing, you filthy beast?" she hissed, grabbing the human teen by the arm and wrenching him around to face her. She balked when the teen she held didn't look like that freak Harry, but a tiny almost too feminine girl with just kissed lips that were bruised and red, the eyes like lanterns of emerald light in a delicate face. Even the hair, while the same color, wasn't the wild mess she knew Harry's to be, but a soft confection of curls that made the teen seem childish and doll-like. She released Harry unknowing it really was him.

"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you were my nephew."

Harry, feeling elated that this horrid cow of a woman didn't recognize him, looked up at her with the best look of a kicked-puppy he could manage. "If that is how you treat him, I can see why he wouldn't want anything to do with such a terrible woman such as you." Even his voice was different, husky and soft instead of cracking and strained. It was as he continued, his watery look becoming genuine as he asked questions he couldn't when he was thought of as Harry. "I hate to think that if the softest of the family is like this, what is the uncle like? Probably a bully. I wonder what cruelty he could have done to you and yours to make you hate him if he is as young as I. I wonder if his parents know that you're such a mean creature that you would take your Hell out on him. What is his crime? Existing? I would wish for you to leave that boy alone since you can't seem to care for him."

Harry turned back to Zim, his arms going around the Irken's neck as he pressed close. Zim let his hand fall naturally to hold the waist of the small human teen, his lips quirking up in the need to press the laughter back and under control. It wasn't so hard when little droplets of saline – he thought they were called tears but he couldn't be _sure_ – touched his shirt and blotted on his neck. Actually, a blatant scowl folded across his face, the stinging from the human water making his skin tingle a little, but not burn. If he could say it without being a fool, he would say that this human was very pure in body since even his saliva hadn't tingled in pollution when in Zim's mouth. His mind ground to a halt as the horse woman let out a choked sob.

"Why – Why would you _say_ something like that?" she cried scandalized and horrified all at the same time.

Harry peeked at the woman he once would have fondly called Aunt but now despised everything about her and her ugly treatment of himself. "Because, anyone willing to call a _child _a 'filthy beast' that cannot defend his or herself against an adult or authority figure is not a good person. Not a beautiful person. Not someone I want to associate with because if you treat your own blood that way, how much better would you fake your like of someone who is genuinely kind and friendly? Someone who gives everyone a chance even when others think that they do not deserve it? How many people would that make you take advantage of?" Harry snuggled into Zim's neck. "Just what kind of _beast_ does that make you?"

The horse woman left with a stunned face, tear tracks drying down her cheeks. Zim glared after her, his eyes narrowed. His hatred had focused so solely on this dirt worm that it startled him when he realized just how violent his need was to break that fool female in half. He was not the physical type, not one to dirty his hands like a human-beast.

"I'm sorry, Zim," Harry whispered into the Irken's neck, the sound faint and muffled. Zim looked at the black curls that bounced softly against his hand, the teen shaking with repressed emotions. When those green, green eyes looked up, they held his attention like nothing on this Irk-forsaken polluted mud ball had been able to since day one. Not even that stupid human child Dib-stink distracted him to this degree.

"Who was that filth?" His voice was a growl of menace that skittered up Harry's spine in mild foreboding.

Harry grinned, watery and sad, but a grin nonetheless. "Now, now, Zim. No killing my Aunt. She isn't nice, but she is the only family I have left. Now if you're talking about Vernon . . ." Harry snuggled under the Irken's arms and as close as he could get without literally wrapping his body around the being he held. "So, shopping still on?"

Zim felt his instant recoil of any nice and-or pleasant emotion completely voided when Harry hugged him tighter. He mentally sighed. "Sure, Harry."

"M'kay. Come on, intrepid explorer of Earth, let's get you something to wear." Harry had his hand again and was pulling him along. Zim felt his eyes roll in a human expression but it seemed fitting for now. He actually relaxed and enjoyed the wonderful sensation of contentment while it lasted . . . until Harry finally asked. "So, Zim, just what are you? I can feel the difference just by being within ten feet of you, but it's not like anything I've felt before."

Zim felt himself freeze up, his spine straight and his manner reverting to a cool masked shell that was cold and menacing. Harry didn't even seem to be disturbed by it. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me, I was just wondering. You can call it a gift of senses. Maybe a curse sometimes." Harry winked at Zim, his good humor being restored slowly but surely. "Oh, come now, Dementors are a lot scarier when they're cold and frozen since, hey, they suck the life and soul out of you . . . usually literally. You rate on a scale of 1-to-10 a good six, maybe seven if you put more _umph_ into it. Dementors are way up there, around ten, eleven. Even Voldy-moldy is just an eight or nine, depending on his mood and intentions. Oh, here's the store. In we venture," Harry laughed softly, his voice a little husky from tears but still a happy sound.

Zim didn't even know what to think. This little human was just so . . . so damn frustrating! That was it. He opened his mouth to say something when a bubbly fem teen came up to greet them wearing a skirt so short it should be illegal – and was in some areas – with thigh-high six-inch platform leather boots that laced all the way up. Her top was more her bra with a see-through white tee-shirt sliced in the front and without a solid back, the shirt divided and tied in knots that kept the cotton material flat against her body like a second skin. Her hair was buzzed in the back and long spiked-up curls in the front with bright neon blue streaks throughout the entire blond mass. Her eyes were green, not Harry's green, but more like a soft jade. Her lip rings glinted when she smiled and waved them in.

"Welcome to _Hot Topic_. What can I do ya for?"

Zim watched as Harry grinned at the girl and held out his hand, "Harry. This is Zim," she shook his hand and chuckled warmly. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. We're here looking for something that Zim and maybe I can wear if I can afford it." Harry pointed to the still silent Zim as he stood behind the human boy, the alien flashing several credit cards at the shop girl. "He is allergic to . . . um, synthetics?" Harry turned to Zim for confirmation, the alien already having hidden the plastic as he nodded. "Yes, synthetic material. I've seen several of your shirts around the neighborhood and thought they were more likely to be a more natural fabric."

The girl grinned even wider. "Sure, my com padres. We have a whole wall dedicated to clothes like that. Our newest shipment of silk pant-and-shirt sets made it in just last night and you're more than welcome to try them on. Not to mention all the weird things we carry for our more unusual customers."

She winked at Harry making the teen blush from hair to neck and Zim felt his jaw clench in intense dislike of this fem girl because of it. Harry's tentative question brought him from his reverie of how painfully he could kill the fem.

"Do you, ah, sell wizarding stuff?"

Zim would have laughed if the girl hadn't turned so serious. "Maaaaaybe."

Harry looked at her hard, glanced around, then said one word. "Metamorph." The girl blinked. Then did it again, rubbing her eyes as she did so.

"Did I miss you not only casting a spell, but doing so in a country where it is illegal to do so until you're seventeen?" Harry shook his head hard. "But, but, but . . ."

Harry smiled kindly. "It's a gift. Maybe. A curse, sometimes, but useful for staying out of too much trouble and generally alive if in pieces."

The girl squealed, her voice rising into the glass-shattering range. "O. M. G! This is so cool. I'm a squib since I can't cast regular spells, but I can morph or boil a mean cauldron when I need to. Come on in, then, and see what we can do for you. Or to you," she said with a shark-like grin that should have terrorized the poor and unknowing masses. She led them back to the inventory entrance, opening the door just on the inside and to the right that _should_ had led to the other mundane human store called _Ladies in Waiting_. It did lead to a store, alright, just not the one Zim knew it physically should. "This, gentlemen is _Hot Magic_, the more magical side of _Hot Topic_. All our synthetic material in on _that_ wall, and only about half. The rest is wholly natural and non-polluted. Think of it as a mass wizarding Green Day taken to a whole new and Earth friendly level. What we can't make function with electrical power, we make work with Earth Power. Oops, gotta go! Have fun, we have customers on the other side."

And she was gone. A whirlwind of bubbling joy that was almost sickening and obnoxious . . . but better than what Zim was used to. "Are . . . all humans like that?"

Harry laughed, his face bright. "No, but some are. You need more clothes, so let us go a-hunting." Harry led the way, Zim tagging along behind with a bemused face as Harry touched all the fabrics, comparing them by feel to Zim's own. "I think you might like this. It's a type of dragon hide. More expensive, maybe, but good for wear and tear. Oooh, or _this _one. Spider-silk. So soft . . ."

Zim watched as Harry picked and weighed, oohing and awing over certain kinds, rejecting others on contact. He came along behind the black haired teen, touching the same fabrics and things, some burning to the touch others soothing. As it turned out, Harry was quite adept at picking the things Zim himself would wear. Or in some cases just want. There were a few he wasn't too sure about, but Harry seemed to love the thestral and unicorn leathers . . . just not separately. Harry would touch the thestral hide and shiver, then the unicorn and literally glow. It was a fascinating show for the magically deprived alien.

"What if you touch them together?" Zim questioned with a wondering air. Truthfully, he wanted to see what would happen, his scientist mind racing with ideas. "I think something really . . . different will happen. Not bad."

Harry looked at him, his eyebrow up. "Okay." He shrugged and touched both at the same time, gasping as a frozen sensation swept through his body followed by a warmth that swirled around the cold and made it bearable. He sighed and opened his eyes – when had he closed them to begin with? – and grinned at Zim as the feeling filled him up and left him happy and content. "Brilliant. Just brilliant, Zim. I feel . . . I don't know, but it's just like flying." Harry let go and his face visibly lost the look of absolution, a look Zim felt half disappointed it wasn't where he could see it anymore.

"Wow . . . I've never seen that before. How _cool_, man!" The girl was back, her eyes bright and making Zim come this close to blasting her into dust. "I want to see what Pegasus hair will do to you. I wonder if you'll actually fly or not." She ran around the counter in the far corner and under the leather flap before coming back out with a bolt of shimmering gray fabric that literally seemed to be trying to fly off.

Harry laughed as the girl was jerked to the side before she righted herself with a scowl at the cloth. "Oh, no you don't. I might have the perfect person to finally buy you, you aggravating piece of lint."

Harry put his hand over his mouth as he giggle-snorted in an effort to not laugh, Zim feeling some humor fill him. "It seems . . . enthusiastic," Harry got out as he choked.

The girl glared at the gray fabric, pitching it to Harry who caught it without actual thought and held the now docile cloth. Harry's face lit up with a grin so wide it split his face almost in half. "Wow . . . just, just _brill_."

Zim nodded at the shop girl. "I want these fabrics. I need four in the style of my current shirt, probably the most durable. Purple, dark green, dark pink, dark blue, gray, and black are acceptable. I need a whole new wardrobe that will fit in with the rest of the humans, pants, shirts, under clothes . . . everything. Is there anyway to finish it by tomorrow?"

The shop girl laughed. "I mean, like, hell yeah. That's easy as long as we can have clothing that you've worn and about twenty minutes to wait. How about it, mister Zim? Got time?"

Zim nodded with a reserved look. "What will you need at this time?" Harry's face went a little red as he looked anywhere but at Zim. The girl laughed evilly—she seemed really good at it—and strolled over to grab Zim's shirt hem. Zim grabbed her wrist, the temperature in the shop dropping drastically. "If you needed my shirt, just let me know, human. I do not take kindly to being mauled."

Harry put the cloth down as he came up behind Zim to lightly put his hands on the Irken's shoulders. "Zim, she was kidding." Harry let Zim feel the fingers going down to reach his hand. "Come on, release her before you break her." Zim didn't want to, he wanted to break her for touching him, but the slim fingers getting in under his and between the girl's wrist and his grip was making him slowly think again. Harry slowly pressing against his back, head just high enough to see over the thin shoulder really caught his attention as emerald eyes looked at him with pleading and warmth. "Please, Zim, no hurting the little fleshy human, okay? She's a good person, just a bit more forward than you expected."

The girl backed up and moved away slowly, hands out to show no harm meant. "Sorry, Zim hunny, but I didn't mean to set you off. I was just playing around. Since Harry was taking my forwardness pretty well, I thought you might too." She grinned. "I know better now."

Zim took a breath and let it out, his hand clenching and releasing rhythmically around the smaller and more fragile one in his grip. "Zim, is there anything that might help you calm down? A hug? Some quiet time? Maybe a strong sensation that makes you feel more in control?" Harry let his other hand, the one not trapped by Zim, travel over the alien's chest in an effort to sooth him like Hermione did Harry. He wasn't sure if it was working, but he wouldn't let Zim be hurt for something so stupid. He might not know the Irken well yet, but Harry liked him . . . liked him a lot. He was good under all that gruff.

Zim held his breath, his mind flickering back to just an hour before when all thoughts of hate and killing and death hadn't been pounding his brain. "Harry," he rasped out, his voice more syllabic and breathy than he liked. The teen came around to look at him, those green eyes comforting. "Come here."

Zim let Harry's hand go and pulled the young human boy close, wrapping his arms around the ebony-haired human before latching his mouth onto Harry's. Harry went with it willingly,wrapping his arms around the Irken's neck as the alien took his mouth and ravished it desperately. Actually, Harry had been hoping for a repeat of the feeling of having someone like Zim kissing him senseless and just absolutely mind-blowing. The tongue was forked and prehensile, moving of its own violation and enticing Harry to groan into the kiss as the Irken took his mouth. If Harry had to call it anything, and Hermione would so put it with this label, he would almost call it mouth sex.

Zim felt the world melt away, his mouth moving over and in Harry's, his tongue flicking out and twisting around the young human's tongue, wringing another soft sound from the boy. He liked those sounds, no matter how odd it seemed, and let his thoughts go to fully appreciate the taste and texture of someone that he could physically take into his mouth, his body, without being burnt or hurt. How delicious he tasted too . . . almost like Irken made chocolate wrapped in a unique flavor with no name or label. And the feel! Like hot living silk that stroked and caressed his mouth into giving a purr that vibrated all the way down. When he finally pulled away, Harry was glassy-eyed, grinning, and a bit unsteady on his feet. Zim felt that way too – just slightly, mind you – but couldn't help but want to repeat the performance. If this is what humans felt, no wonder they kissed everywhere with no care for discretion.

"I think I'm calmed down now," Zim stated with a grin. The shop girl was sitting over to the side fanning herself.

"I'm glad someone is because I'm not and I _know_ poor Harry can't be. Wow . . . just yowhza. I wish I had a camera. The yaoi fangirls are gonna freak when they hear of this." She popped off the side counter and slowly made her way over. "Can I have your shirt now, or should I let Harry retrieve it? When he gains coherency and thought back, anyway."

"Oh, ha-bloody-ha," growled the black-haired teen, his green eyes unfocused but his mind was intact . . . maybe. He wasn't so sure right now. "I'll do it since I prefer not to wind up on the floor. That and I have this thing about waiting at least a day before jumping back into trouble or saving people." Harry looked up at Zim, his eyes like stars as he captured the Irken's attention without having to say anything. "May I please have your shirt?"

Zim for some reason couldn't speak, so he nodded as he swallowed hard. Small deft hands raked up the pink shirt, touching the smooth scaled skin of his waist where his pants left off like fluttering butterflies. Zim sucked in his breath, his eyes widening. What was this feeling bubbling in his stomach? It was hot and clenching and making him hard in his tight pants, something that had never happened before. Of course, the tingling of magic running over his nerves might have had something to do with it too. However, when those electrifying eyes looked at him like that, he could say it was from that look alone.

Harry placed his hands flat against Zim's skin, skimming the shirt up as he ran his hands up that smooth flesh that felt like hot silk over steel as he traced the indentations of the abdomen muscles up to the pectorals, the musculature different than a humans. It was fascinating, really, and Harry took his time exploring before he finally pulled the shirt up and off, letting his fingers run over the arms and neck of his savior. Zim shivered and bit back a groan of disappointment when Harry finally let go. The shop girl stood there, her eyes slightly glazed and her jaw hanging open.

Harry handed her Zim's shirt and she snapped out of her funk, wiping her mouth with a napkin in case she had drooled. "I'll-" her voice was too rough and she cleared her throat. "I'll be right back. Harry, try and get him out of his pants without tackling him to the floor. Please . . . or not."

Harry went red and Zim grinned. Maybe becoming friends with that forward human fem would be worth it to get Harry to be more forward since Zim had been tempted to all but claim the ebony-haired teen as his own by now. After analyzing the feeling – once he could think anyway – Zim had placed it as sexual arousal. He had never experienced it before but when it is described so accurately, what else could it be? And seeing Harry blush over him was beautiful indeed. Yes, he would keep in touch with this human fem.

Harry wrinkled his nose at Zim. "I am not taking off your pants, mister. I might be . . . um," Harry went so red his ears blushed with him. "Okay, I have no idea why I took off your shirt like that but don't get used to it, Zim. Now, off with your pants. The shop girl needs them for accurate measurements or your pants won't fit correctly." Harry stepped back out of Zim's personal bubble and waited for the Irken to do as he was told. Of course, Harry couldn't know that Zim was enjoying watching Harry too much to show how much he hated being told what to do. He'd get to that eventually . . . maybe. If he remembered later. Why was there a _'later'_ at all? Zim scratched his head and sighed. It really didn't matter, did it?

"If you insist, little human," Zim grinned as he shimmied out of his pants and let them puddle on the floor, watching as Harry's eye went wide. Zim was cackling madly on the inside at the look of sheer disbelief combined with a curious light just begging for answers.

"Oh, Merlin, you're naked. Why don't you wear underwear? Why can't I find normal people who wear underwear?" Harry lamented in a theatrical fashion as he grabbed up a length of fabric and wrapped it around Zim's waist. "Ron doesn't, Hermione only wears thongs, and, Zim, you don't wear underclothes either! Am I the only sane one to wear underclothes?"

Harry looked up to see Zim grinning madly before his face was grabbed and pulled in for another kiss. If this kept up, Harry wouldn't be able to walk, much less run from sexy what-evers that where so well endowed he wondered if the horse cried when it happened.

Zim pushed Harry back, the teen holding the fabric around Zim's waist just barely as he was pushed back and over one of the tables stacked with bolts of magical fabrics. Harry tried to gasp out that this wasn't right, but the tongue invading his mouth and suckling his tongue had him gasping for another reason. Zim was careful in his attack, stroking Harry's neck and sides softly, delicately running his hands down the teen's sides and up his back. Harry's knees were on either side of him causing Zim to come into full frontal contact, the human boy all but purring with the attention. There was something hard against his stomach and he reached down to remove it. When he grasped the length through Harry's over-sized trousers, Harry arched up into the touch, moaning wantonly causing Zim to start. Whatever it was he had grabbed, the reaction was superb as Harry completely surrendered to the Irken's domination.

"If you two have sex on that fabric, you're going to have to buy it."

Zim looked up and snarled at the human woman, his teeth bared in a sharp grimace. The shop girl took a step back before grabbing his discarded pants, turning around and leaving. That taken care of, the Irken returned to his human, licking the neck that was stretched like an offering before him. Zim took it, biting and marking the flesh, half tempted to bite hard enough to taste blood. _Not yet_, his mind whispered. _Wait_, it cautioned. He heeded the warnings, but only just barely.

"Zim . . . _Zim_! S-stop, please. I'm gonna—Oh, Merlin! _ZIM_!" Harry arched under the Irken, his body pulled tight as he came in his pants, body aching with orgasmic ecstasy. Zim pulled back, licking his lips and watching as Harry came down from his high. He would wait. Only when he claimed this tiny human, his Harry, would he release himself.

"Zim, we're going to have to buy this stuff, ya know," Harry said once he could breath properly. "I, for one, do not have the funds at this current moment to purchase any of it. And I'm sticky." Harry grimaced, his face pulled awkwardly in a small frown.

Zim grinned. "We shall see, shall we not?" He pulled Harry close so that the teen straddled his waist. "Think my clothing is done?"

Harry stuck his tongue out. "You git," he groused humorously. "What am I to do with you? And why do I let you do whatever you want, I wonder."

The shop girl came back, her face pink, but composed as if people had sex in her store every day. "The pants will be done in another ten minutes or so. And since Harry might need more clothes, I'll need to see him for a fitting. Shouldn't take long at all."

Harry scooted forward and off the table, Zim standing imposingly before him. Harry gave him a pleading look. "Please, Zim? I need something to wear home and stained jeans are not my favorite wear."

Zim rolled his eyes. "Fine. But," he leaned in close. "If you take too long, I will come after you."

Harry grinned and scampered off after planting a sweet kiss on Zim's cheek in thanks. Zim touch his face, a blush tinging his cheeks a curious blue-red.

In the back of _Hot Magic_, scissors cut and trimmed as needles sewed and stitched gracefully in tiny stitching. One was almost finished and looked like Zim's old shirt, only it was a deep and sturdy purple. A black and a pewter gray mass were floating nearby to be finished, clearly more shirts for Zim.

The girl lead him to a stall in the far back corner of the small hall . . . a shower stall. "Take a quick wash-up, Harry. There are towels to the left and cleaning things on the right. When you're dry, call me and I'll send in the tape measure."

As Harry was getting undressed in the small shower room, the shop girl talked to him through the paper thin door. "I don't get why you let him push you around, Harry. I mean, yeah he's totally seme, but you're too head strong for a normal uke type." Harry leaned out the door and looked at her.

"What are you talking about? And what is your name? I seem to keep forgetting to ask," he fired off smoothly as he stepped into the frothing water head.

"Name's Candy Michelson. And I meant Dominate and Submissive. 'Seme' and 'uke' are terms used on the bulletin boards and in the chat rooms since everyone hates typing out the longest word imaginable." She paused and Harry could hear her mind working. "So, how long have you known this Zim?"

Harry answered truthfully. "Today. Just over an hour ago, actually."

Candy was quiet several minutes. "Okay, that is unusual. Why do you let him all but maul you, then? I mean, even the most submissive person would want to _know_ something about their partner."

Harry scrubbed his hair and body while thinking that over. "What can I tell you? He's one hell of a good kisser." Candy laughed and Harry grinned into the water. "But, I don't know. He makes me feel safe. I don't get that feeling often. Pretty much never, really. I cherish that more than anything else right now."

Candy chewed on her hair. "So, you are_ that _Harry then. Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. Why do you put up with all that mess from the papers?"

Harry had frozen before the girl practically blew his fame to smithereens by ignoring it. He coughed as he swallowed water the wrong way. "What? I mean, yes, I am that Harry. What can I do about the papers? I've held about none of all the publicity. Know nothing of what is written nine times out of ten. Heck, I didn't even know they were writing about me until Malfoy opened his gob and spouted off like a water sprinkler."

Candy looked at the door. "Seriously? How horrible. Can't you hire a lawyer or something? Reduce the stupid stuff and get to the nitty-gritty?"

Harry blinked. "You know, I never thought of that. Merlin, am I a dunce or what?"

Candy snorted a laugh. "Yeah. Right. If half of what I read about your adventures are true, it's a wonder you finish any of your school work on a regular basis in time to hand it in to the teacher. And pass the class. I couldn't do that. I _know_ I wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell if it came down to it. And if you want, I can ask some of the girls about a good attorney that would black-ball the papers so bad, they'd be permanently limp."

Harry gurgled a laugh as he stepped from the shower, clean and trying to get dry enough. "If you can, go ahead and send in the tape. I need something other than a towel to wear when I go back out there with Zim. If I don't . . . well." He shrugged.

Candy snickered. "Hah! You got that right, Harry. Just hold still as the tape measures you up right quick. Ten minutes and I'll have simple set ready. I'll use that Pegasus fabric and the thestral and unicorn hide for the next one. These won't be anything fancy, just good to wear anywhere." Four seconds later and the tape was gone, Harry blinking at the sudden departure. "Thanks, Harry," Candy called.

Harry nodded, grabbing a wrapped comb and relieving it of its wrapper. Though he couldn't tame the mass, he was willing to groom it well. It was then that he actually noticed that his hair was still curly, though his eyes had mostly reverted back to normal. Even his body was still slightly soft and feminine, Harry scowling at the curve of his hips. Then he thought of Zim's reaction to him, to his body as it was and felt his entire body flush. Maybe being a bit feminine wasn't too bad. Towel around his hips, he stepped from the steaming shower and into a shirt . . . of sorts. Candy was on the other side of it, her grinning face putting him on guard.

"Okay, what did you do? And is Zim the master mind of it?" Candy stuck her tongue out.

"No, you goof. It's one of your new shirts. Think of it as a thank you gift for Zim buying so much stuff. And for that floor show."

Harry scowled and plucked the shirt from her hands, pulling it on one handed so that his towel wouldn't dessert him for the floor. It was a stretchy fabric, not tight, but form fitting and Harry felt half naked just wearing it . . . Oh, yeah, he still was. "No pants?" he teased.

Candy laughed and threw a pair of shimmery black fabric at him, the bundle catching him in the face. "Thanks, you hoyden. Jeez, ask for pants, get smacked in the face. Hey, where's the underwear? Where's the _room_ for the underwear?"

Candy laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. "You're supposed to wear them as is, Brit. Not ruin the line with drawers."

Harry scowled. "Yes, well, you Americans are heathens. So there."

"You're such a girl, Harry. Just put them on. Zim won't even notice if you don't tell him about it." She canted her hips as a smug smile graced her lips. "And just think, if you want, it's all easy access."

Harry spluttered as Candy flounced off like a diva queen with a wink.


	2. When Magic Meets Soul

KEY:

* (astrick/star) – the word(s) the brackets go to.

**[[word]]** – author's notes in bold script and brackets. Since I typed this all at once, I did this to allow explanations.

"`~,*,~`"

Bardock sat at the table, his gaze just skimming the never changing crowd. If Saiyans had a hell, this was it. Being stuck with the most annoying people possible and then being unable to kill the little bastards when their amusement factor wore off. King Vegeta agreed whole-heartedly, the man sitting and stroking his goatee and mustache as he idly thought on something.

The sudden commotion had both looking up to see an orb . . . like a looking glass of sorts, if you thought about it. Bardock remembered some of the theories that other races had about things like this and his skin chilled. His King looked at him from the corner of his blacker-than-black eye, his attention focused more on Bardock than the orb. If there was one thing the King had figured out in this Kami-forsaken afterlife it was that when Bardock was wary, all should be so. When the Third-Class Saiyan was speaking, listen closely. And when he made something, it damn well worked like a Kami-given gift with little to no flaws.

"Speak, Bardock," King Vegeta ordered calmly.

"My lord . . . there were beings that had _theories_ about things of this nature. A Looking Glass, if you will, that does many things, some wondrous, other devastating. This orb concerns me greatly if it has one-tenth of that potential." Bardock stood, looming over his King as he reached out to touch the orb, the surface rippling to show a mirror image of him, a young man that looked almost identical, and a small child that was damn near a carbon copy of Kakkarot* when the babe had been sent to Earth for its destruction. **[[I'm not sure this is right because I found several different spellings.]]**

"_Hey, Goku! What's up?"_

A short man came into the orb, the picture of what Bardock had come to know as a monk standing and rubbing his tattooed dots thoughtfully under the thick thatch of black hair. It was so unruly one would think he was a Saiyan too but for his stature.

"_It seems that something is not right, Krillin. Something very bad. We're waiting for Vegeta to come."_

"_Aw, do we have to? He's such a pain in my ass with his Holier-Than-Thou attitude."_

"Goku" laughed deeply, the teenager by his side shaking his head as the smallest of the three giggled. The small man – Krillin* – sulked pitifully. Moments later, another joined the image, an older Prince Vegeta, his scowl firmly in place. **[[Also written often as Krirrin.]]**

"_What is it, Kakkarot?"_

What they, Bardock mostly, now knew was that this man was Bardock's whelp grown in full. They also found it amusing that Prince Vegeta paid any attention to an obviously Third-Class soldier.

"_Something or someone is tearing the world apart. Piccolo said that whatever it is was trying to tear a rift in the fabric of the worlds. It almost succeeded. If it _does_ rip the world apart, you'll think all of our adversaries as well as Cell and Buu were kiddy rides compared to this."_

Vegeta was staring at Kakkarot, something like terror in his eyes. What had their Prince seen to put such a look on his stately face?

"_You cannot be serious. The Genyu, Frieza, the Androids, Cell, and Buu were not some child's toy, Kakkarot. If this thing is worse than them, what the fuck do we do about it?"_

That was kind of what they were thinking. This Goku, Bardock's whelp Kakkarot, calling Genyu* and Frieza* easy? They had defeated them all? How was that possible? Bardock, though, remembered many half formed realities that his youngest brat would have to go through from his time in the pod. And who were the Androids? Cell? Buu? They had to have been stronger than Frieza to cause their Prince to worry. **[[Both have at the least three different spellings each. These are the ones I'm going with unless corrected.]]**

"_Piccolo is talking to Shin. It seems Fate and Chance owe Shin more than what their fighting is worth. If he can, he will bring in someone who not only will help us, but will be in need of help himself." _

Vegeta sighed and rubbed his brow with a strongly tanned hand.

"_Damn it, Kakkarot, that is not reassuring. What would our help _need_ help with if he _is_ the supposed hero of this badly written script?"_

Good question. Kakkarot rubbed the small child's head as he looked up into the nothingness of their orb.

"_He is a prophecy child. Even we were the result of prophetic intervention which is why Fate and Chance owe Shin so badly. Obaa-baa even let me know a few of her true prophecies. We've completed only _half_ of them, if that tells you anything. But anyway, it seems that this boy was left to his own devices and not given anything other than a pitiful hope of survival with Love as his weapon."_

Vegeta and all of the Saiyans in the afterlife snorted. Goku laughed at his Prince.

"_Hm. I know emotion is good and all, but they really haven't done anything for him other than let someone who makes Saiyans look saintly break his mind open. The boy and I, we have been sharing dreams and truthfully, what you did to worlds pales compared to what this sick fucker did and does to not only his own followers but those around him. He had been human at one point but lost his body. Now he is a dark creature, a humonculus* with the features of a snake and the power to probably blow up the world if he wasn't so damned insane."_ **[[Again, different spellings. This is the one that I picked after much debate.]]**

Giving a mad man power was a bad thing. Just look at Frieza! At least this one didn't have the common sense to use all that power . . . yet. And someone so sick within their mind to make them – _Saiyans_ of all sentient beings – seem saintly and kind? How old was this boy? Twenty? Thirty? Surely not younger.

"_You are telling me that Saiyans are saints compared to this snake-faced dick?"_

Goku nodded and the entire room and their Prince blinked stupidly. How in the hell did someone make them seem saintly?

"_Hell, even Frieza of all people is better than him! I have . . . seen things that-"_

Goku's eyes were like burning coals as he stared down now, his hands in fists at his sides. His youngest wrapped his tail around Goku's wrist to help calm him. The haunted look did not bode well for what he had witnessed, been forced to share with their "help". His oldest put his large hand on his father's shoulder. The tension slowly abated, his eyes calming.

"_Let us say that death is too kind."_

"_I can tell. I have known you for years and never have you been so close to a true rage, Kakkarot. What has this thing done to make you so furious?"_

They waited, the man closing his eyes to the sight of his friends and children.

"_Gohan, take Goten. Do not say anything,I will tell you later if I think it is relevant."_

"_Yes, sir."_

The now named Gohan took his brother Goten into his arms, soaring off into the clouds with the child squealing joyfully. Goku watched them go for several seconds before his intense gaze pierced Vegeta and making even the dead Saiyans shiver. With a careful leash on his rage, he told of one of the many revels that the snake bastard had forced a _child_, a fourteen year old boy to watch. Vegeta had paled several shades, his body trembling. The Saiyans watching the orb felt bile rising in their throats as detail after detail of what was done not only to prisoners, but _children_, made them feel sick with their rage. They may kill, take, loot, but never had they raped a child at the tender age of six or seven . . . it _disgusted_ them.

"_We will train him."_

It was the declaration of a Prince and a man of his own children, their Prince in such a fury they wondered how he kept from loosing himself. It was soon answered when a lavender haired boy flew to his side and smiled at the stoic man.

"_Hey, Dad? Mom says dinner is ready."_

"_Good, son. Come, Kakkarot, break bread with us this evening. You are welcome to join us, baldy."_

The orb went black, Bardock shaking his head. "I-" he started, faltering. Then his gaze became like black lightening, searing the soul of whoever looked. "I will not stay here to watch a child fight a monster like that," he stated in a seething calm, lowly but brittle. His King looked at him, his own black eyes showing acknowledgment. It was time to incite a riot.

"`~,*,~`"

"_NOOOO! SIRIUS!_" Harry watched, pulling at Remus to let him go, as his Godfather fell through the veil. He couldn't. Not again. He could _not_ endure the loss of another so close to him.

"You can't, Harry! You . . . you can't." Remus hugged him tight to his chest, sobs filling him up. Harry looked at the one who had taken Sirius from him, had caused not only him but a close friend intense pain of loosing someone precious.

"You bitch," he snarled as he broke away, wand up. "Cruciatus!"

The spell didn't even hit worth a damn and apparently it tickled since Bellatrix started laughing. "Poor baby! Has your dogfather been taken away?"

Harry followed the stupid bitch from the room of the veil to the atrium where Dumbledore met him . . . as did Riddle. Their battle was short but intense, Harry trying to keep out of the way until the very end and right after receiving the Cruciatus curse. The disgusting feel of such a vile entity made him cry out, the sound from his mouth like that of a wounded animal. His mental shout and pain caught one observer unawares as Voldemort tried to force Dumbledore to kill his body and, therefore, him.

_Get out of my mind! Leave me alone!_

Voldemort laughed. Harry shivered and remembered the last time he had heard such a sound. Cedric had been killed not minutes before the ritual to bring Riddle back, the pain of loosing a friend filling him up as the anger drained away. Sadness the likes of which Voldemort had never felt before battered at his mind, the absolute agony of watching a loved one parish tearing at Harry's heart and Voldemort's mind. What finally forced the evil being away was the love he held for those people, the swelling need to protect and love them from the Dark Lord's vulgar self.

Harry blinked as his sight came back before he toppled forward. Black claimed his sight as his hearing echoed with the voices of people, those he knew and cared for. And then . . . nothing. Time seemed suspended as he floated in darkness, warmth gently coaxing him away from the pain as wounds healed. It was here that Harry met Shin, the being a bit fuzzy since his sight was not up to par even within his mind. How can you know full sight if you have only experienced a thick fuzz?

"I see that your eye sight is in need of correcting," rumbled a soft, kindly voice that had Harry spinning to try and find who – or what – had spoken to him. The voice chuckled, the teen getting a lock and turning _up_. "You are a smart child, aren't you? That is good. It will be needed in the coming months."

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Comfort flowed in waves around Harry as whoever it was came a little closer, the outline a giant ball of colored fuzz. "I am Shin of another world, and I need your help. But, in return, we will help you, train you, so that you may defeat your evil."

Harry, uh, _sat_ – well, he could be duct-tapped to the floor and not know it – and contemplated Mr. Shin Le Fuzz. "You're seriously going to help me? This isn't a sick joke or a 'you do it but still take the BS and get nothing' deal, right?"

There seemed to be a tinge of sadness all around as Mr. Shin Le Fuzz sighed. "No, Harry, we won't. It is within our nature to finish a contract to the fullest because we are bound by our world's life force."

"What about magic? Does that bind you too?" he asked, his brow drawn down as he thought over the offer carefully, weighing the words for truthfulness and sincerity. But . . . he was desperate. No one would train him and, though the DA had done so damned well it was unbelievable, that would not be enough to rid the world of Voldemort. There were questions like: "Do we leave this world?", "Is it only me?", and "Why help me at all?" that bounced around and unknowingly found their way to Shin.

"Yes, Harry, magic binds me just as tightly as it does the rest of your world. If I uttered an oath, I am bound to finish it or perish trying." Mr. Shin Le Fuzz waved . . . something that might have been an arm and a gentle coolness breezed by. "And, if you agree, I would take you from this world, but only for a short time. Unfortunately, due to the nature of this pact, only you would come with me, however that in no way stops others from following either way." Humor tinged the air and Harry just knew he was smiling.

"I . . ." Harry went silent for a moment. Then, "I want to do this, but your offer seems one sided. What do you need me for?"

Shin was smug sounding as he answered. "So bright. We need you to stop the rifts in the world. Something is coming, something that my warriors are unable to defeat even at their most powerful because physical and spiritual attacks _don't work_. This does not mean they are weak, far from it, only that I need a different kind of fire power. Magic and mana can destroy this creature. Magic is not as powerful as mana in the sense that mana is drawn from the earth while the magic is drawn from the body. Unfortunately, I am unable to have a mana wielder upon the world for they would be foolish to try and take the mana of the world as their own and either die or destroy the world. Magic users are more flexible and kind to the earth they inhabit."

Harry stared, squinting at Mr. Shin Le Fuzz. "Just one magic user to kill what your many warriors were unable to? Ha! That's ridiculous."

"But true," he quipped pleasantly. "Physical attacks are ignored and spiritual attacks are eaten as the beast feasts on souls and spirits to sustain itself. This is why we need you. You are a good, kind wizard, not really wanting the power you have but willing to use it in helping others and keeping them safe. If we had wanted nothing but raw brutal power with nothing to gain but more power, Voldemort or Dumbledore might have the one we picked. Your power is not mature yet so therefore it is less potent at this time but more malleable and willful to change. That is also a reason to help you, boosting your magic into maturity so that you may stand a chance at defeating this evil."

Harry thought about it hard, silence thumping in his mind as he came to a conclusion. "I will. I need to."

Mr. Shin Le Fuzz probably nodded but Harry wasn't all that sure. Then, the man was gone and Harry was blinking up at the ceiling in Madame Promphrey's Infirmary. Hermione was there, asleep in a bed beside him with bandages across her chest and stomach. Ron was on his other side, his sleep less than pleasant. Blinking in the bleary world, he grabbed for the glasses on his bedside. Something was wrong with this picture and it took a moment for him to figure it out. Ron and Hermione should be close to each other.

He wasn't sure _why_ this thought occurred, but he did it anyway, rolling Ron's bed next to Hermione's and lacing their lax fingers together. Harry smiled when Ron stilled into a peaceful sleep and Hermione turned her face to that of Ron's. This was much better.

What Harry didn't know was that Shin had already started the transformation, giving his magic a more instinctive roll that helped the teen find his way through his thoughts. The god watched the boy, the guilt and sadness that should have engulfed him lessening greatly and leaving behind one who was grieving but not desolate. Sighing in that his work was done for now, he left the plain to return to his own, Goku contacting him.

_'How is he, Shin?'_

"He is nearly broken. This hurt him more than any would have suspected. But . . . are you alright? I know you had to have felt the curse."

_'It hurt. More than dieing has ever made me hurt. I actually wished for a death so that the pain would lessen.'_

Shin rubbed his face. "You had physical damage." It wasn't a question but a statement. The wordless acknowledgment had the god sighing. "I'll make sure that Harry brings with him nerve restoring potions."

_'Just take care of him until then, Shin. I worry.'_

Goku saying he was worrying was like saying that the sun was pink with purple polka-dots. It didn't happen. And that was the truly terrifying part of all of this. "I will try, Goku. I will try."

"`~,*,~`"

Harry sat on his rickety bed, the floorboard under it stashed with enough food to last two weeks if he was careful and a few potions he had filched for when the revels got out of hand, a sigh escaping his lips. Mr. Shin Le Fuzz had yet to reappear after nearly two days back at the Dursley's. Though he knew there had never been an official time for the being to come get him, Harry felt as if he should have already.

"I see you are a bit bored, Harry-heika," remarked a voice softly from behind him. "Then again, I might be too stuck within this prison."

Harry whirled and got his first more-or-less clear view of Shin Le Fuzz . . . Now Shin of the Purple Skin and White Gravity-Defying Mohawk. "Shin?"

The man smirked in a kindly way as he tipped his head respectfully. "That would be I, Harry-heika. Are you ready to leave?"

"Just one question?"

Shin chuckled. "Just one? Well then, be my guest."

"Um," Harry scratched his neck endearingly. "Will I return the same day I leave or later on in the future?"

Shin shook his head. Was it him or did the heroes get smarter while he wasn't looking – Goku didn't count, poor brain-damaged man. Fantastic battle tactician, but two plus two was just inside his mental capabilities. "If it would be needed, you would be returned to this day, moments after we left. However, it is not I who decides that, it is Fate and Chance."

Harry blinked as his mind worked that out, a small frown puckering his forehead. "Okay . . . Just let me grab a few things."

Shin nodded, waiting as the boy scrambled for the loose floorboard, his wand and a silvery cloak in hand, not to mention the few ration and protein bars and the potion vials that were stuffed in his giant pockets, and a book. "I'm ready, Shin."

The man looked around the room. "Nothing else?"

Harry shrugged. "I haven't anything else." He looked back at the room, not seeing the being in front of him near snarling at the simplistic way a child would dismiss his own severe neglect and near abuse. He calmed himself before the boy turned to look at him again.

"Then . . . take my arm and hold tight."

Harry hesitated before tenderly taking a hold on the expensive appearing fabric. Before he could make a sound, they were gone in a shifting of worlds.


	3. Light of the Darkest

`'~*~'`

Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. In the quiet little suburbia called Surrey on Privet Drive, there was a duel . . . of monsters, half of which were featured in the Monster Book of Monsters that Hagrid had given him last year for his class. The ones that weren't were similar to the mythical beasts of the wizards that purported omens of good or ill. Except for the few, of course, that were more like animals stuck together to make up something else. Those were pure fictional and very few between.

Dudley was dueling – and failing remarkably fast – to a smaller girl who looked like one of those pretty china dolls with their white porcelain faces. Harry had seen her in his class a time or two. She was polite to the point of rude, self-assured and quiet, analytical and precise. Somewhat like Hermione but much more intense. Way more intense.

Harry sighed and dusted off his knees, stretching back up with a groan as his spine let out a series of little pops. Petunia's flowers were fertilized, he stunk, and the sun was getting hotter. Vernon would be home in about two hours, so that left plenty of time for him to run for a shower while Petunia watched her "Diddy-dunkins" get smashed into the ground time and again. He slipped under the spray of water and sighed in relief. The smell of manure was coming off easily . . . but Harry grimaced as a much sweeter smell came from him almost like a perfume, just like the ***Season Trumpet** – a magical Orchid type plant – that Professor Sprout had in her newest green house. It made Harry think of sun and sand and heat and ***Blue Sky Honey Suckle **(again, another magical plant). Only, the Orchid wasn't just one smell, but all smells rolled into one pleasant scent the made the toes curl and the eyes droop in relaxation. And it never smelled the same for any other person. It was a scent only known to the individual.

After scrubbing his hair clean, Harry zipped out of the shower to wrap a towel around his waist and lug the disgusting clothes from earlier around. Digging through his drawer of hand-me-downs, he came across six or so pairs of pants that had been given to him when he was nine or ten from a neighborhood Goodwill store. They had been too big then, but now . . . the pants fit well enough if not perfectly. They were a bit too loose, hanging on his hips if barely without a belt and covering the tops of his feet like they fit someone much taller. They probably had at one point, but Harry ignored this as he searched for a clean shirt. Only to be disappointed that there were none and that he would have to do more laundry. He hated laundry.

Deciding that there was nothing for it, he skipped downstairs to the kitchen to start an early supper knowing Dudley would come in furious that he lost and Petunia fawning over her baby promising to buy him more cards for his lousy deck. That's how it went since the Duel Disks had been mass produced from Japan. He'd only seen a few cards himself, some that Dudley threw out when he didn't like them (_Man-eater Bug_, _Aqua Spirit_, _Dream Clown_, and several more) and one or two that the piggish boy decided were 'cool enough' to keep (mostly the ones over 2000+ attack points). They were beautiful, _all_ of the cards he'd seen, horrifying monster or not.

"Harry James! You did this! You made my ikkle Diddly-dunkins loose to that horrid Mary-Ann girl! What are you-"

Petunia had started from the door, listening to where Harry might be, her spleen not waiting to be vented upon him in a rant. To find Harry who was looking at her quizzically, spoon in hand as he boiled up one of Petunia's favorite foods, was making her stumble for words. On the table sat one of Dudley's favorite stews, the bowl a good sturdy one since Dudley had taken to eating directly from the tableware and not the dinnerware. Two more dishes were beside that, a thick luscious chocolate cake that she knew Harry would make a killing with and Vernon's Brussels sprouts sitting close to where the man always sat. She let her rant die off since it was technically impossible to ruin a card game when one's mind and eyes were on supper.

"Ah. Then I will go and buy more cards for Dudley. It can't be you . . . _this_ time." Just as she turned to go, Harry felt his lips move on their own violation.

"Get him a solid starter base and not the supporting cards. There are tins of them in the big mall at that little New Age store you and Vernon usually skip."

Petunia froze up and her face hardened. "How do you know about that?" she spit out with venom. Harry shook his head.

"All the times Dudley boasts to me how often he goes there with Polkis and his gang, he tells me that is pretty much the only store you won't go in. He was wondering just how to get one of those pre-set

decks as his own. Truthfully, though," Harry stated as he peeked over his shoulder to see his stunned aunt, "his deck is made up of too many high-powered monsters but nothing to sacrifice for the powerful monsters he does have."

Petunia finally got a hold of herself. "And how to you know this, boy?"

Harry shrugged. "I read the manual one night when I had nothing else to do. If you want to look at it, it's on my desk under a pile of parchment." He stirred the pot and watched as the noodles started softening up enough to swirl around. Almost done, then.

Watching as Harry set out another pot and filled it with water and pre-cut veggies from the fridge, Petunia found herself looking at probably the only person in the house with any knowledge on how to duel just because he read the instructions manual. How mundane and simplistic could you get? And why hadn't _she_ thought of that? Then another question popped up.

"Then you would know why one of that Mary-Ann girl's beasts ran off the holographic field?"

Harry shook his head. "It's Mary-Ann Westler, daughter of Uncle Vernon's working associate at the firm. As for why the thing got up and left? I couldn't tell you, but the news has been sporting some odd sights and appearances of people dressing up like their favorite cards and prancing around with their friends at the mall, downtown, conventions . . . everywhere. There is even a tournament in about a month that Dudley has been lamenting about to his friends. Apparently Uncle Vernon doesn't want him to go since this reminds him too much of . . . me."

Petunia walked in slowly, sitting in her place at the table as she thought. "He-he doesn't like that Dudley plays this game? Why hasn't he told me?"

Harry sighed. "He's said more than once that the game is rubbish. That it brought out the worst in some people. Of course I couldn't ignore him at the time since he was looking right at me, but that's how it is I guess."

"So," Petunia turned her mind away from Vernon for the moment, her mind racing, "what have I been buying Dudley for so long?"

"Booster packs. They're great for someone with an established deck, but a hindrance for someone just starting out since they don't familiarize themselves with what their current cards can do. I've seen Dudley change his deck, throw away cards, and then buy new ones the moment he had money to do so without even figuring out what or why those lower-leveled cards are good for."

The noodles where taken off and strained in the sink, the veggies still not quite right yet. A large bowl was used to put the noodles in, Harry cursing under his breath when a noodle flicked him in the face making him jerk. After wiping his face with the kitchen towel, he went back to the refrigerator to pluck the mozzarella cheese and the salsa from the Hispanic store Harry frequently shopped at for the more adventurous foods his aunt ate. Vernon hardily disapproved and Harry felt good about himself every time he went.

"Hey, Aunt Petunia," Harry started as his curiosity got the best of him, "just what monster was it that jumped off the field?"

She thought a minute. "Um, Gable? Gazle? No, no. It's called Gazelle the king of something or other."

"_Gazelle the King of the Mythical Beasts_?" Harry asked. Petunia nodded. "Well, at least it was an interesting beast. Don't worry, though. The projection of the animal had most likely worn off since it's not physically real."

It was a while before Dudley came in, his stomping feet thunderous as he charged up to his room. Petunia went to follow him but Harry shook his head. "Better not," he said as he tilted the strained veggies onto the noodles and poured the thick creamy sauce of mozzarella and salsa on top. "He might strike out."

Petunia looked at Harry with an odd gleam in her eye that had Harry wondering how fast he was going to have to run. She said nothing, so Harry went about fixing his own meal, much less fancy but just as filling. By the time Vernon's car pulled into the drive, Harry was up the stairs and in his room. Petunia was half amazed by how fast he had moved, the boy silent and too swift for anything normal. Her head hurt and her heart felt heavy when she thought of why that might be.

**~*Within The Cards*~**

It was nearly a week later that Petunia came back with a starter deck from the New Age shop. Harry was in back cutting the grass and weeding the bricks of the patio. Petunia called him in and Harry rubbed his arm over his face.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia."

Sucking some water from the hose-pipe, he shucked his shirt and used the only dry part to clean up with as he walked inside. He dropped the shirt in the hamper set by the door as he made his way to the kitchen. Petunia was cooking tonight since there was a meeting of Vernon's associates – one being Mr. Westler – so Harry was to stay out until they all left. He didn't have a problem with that, wanting to get out without having chores to do for once.

Petunia sat at the table, her fingers running over the cards in her hands. "I bought him a new deck and let him see what it was. He doesn't like this one," she pointed to the soft-looking fairy card that showed _Spirit of the Breeze_ – Lvl 3.

"I'm not surprised. Any more he threw a fit over? Maybe I can fix it or something."

Petunia got out the deck and showed another ten or so cards, all of them sweet looking fairies, water creatures, or low leveled. Harry sighed and thought about it. "Did you get his deck from him?" Petunia nodded slowly. "Alright, give it here and I'll fix it so that even if the monsters aren't super strong, they're ugly and tough looking."

Going through the deck, Harry sighed at each rule infringement his cousin discounted to win. Picking three _Gagagigo_ of four, he slipped them into the deck. _Beezle Frog_ only had two cards, so he picked one. _Creeping Doom Manta_, _Psychic Kappa_, _Root Water_, _7 Colored Fish_, _Turtle Tiger_, and _Aqua Madoor_ soon followed. "There, that should make this a solid Water element deck. There are few other types of creatures, but that is all that's in his deck that are level four or less."

Harry handed back the deck and went upstairs to clean up, showering and dressing in the almost-fitting-but-not-quite pants and an old school uniform button-down shirt left un-tucked and half unbuttoned. Harry grabbed up a jacket the twins had surrendered to him the first time he had said that he didn't have a coat, surprised at the time that it looked muggle. He tucked his wand into the inner wrist pocket – apparently what it had been designed for – and a few galleons just in case. When he hit the bottom of the stairs, Petunia shoved the rest of what was left of the booster made deck in his hands.

"Keep these from Dudley. Until otherwise told, he is not to know that they're still here." Harry nodded at his aunt and ran on out the door into the evening light, heading for the playground swings to sit. As the night crept on, the sky darkening to navy, Harry stared at the stars wondering what the news was going on about the 'monsters' that were really kids playing dress-up. He'd seen some really good likenesses, like they were real, but this was a _card game_, not some weird spelled cards.

Like it had been summoned by his errant thoughts, the creature Petunia had mentioned leaving the board was creeping closer to strike at Harry. The teen felt the chill down his spine intensify with a suddenness associated with Dementors, Death Eaters and Voldemort. Harry rolled forward in the swing just as Gazelle leaped to catch him. Fearing for his life from the intensely _alive_ looking creature, Harry high-tailed it to the tree line of the park, a small concession to environmentalists everywhere. He had never climbed a tree so quickly as he did now, scrambling up and out of reach of the lion-like creature that had a unicorn-style horn on its forehead. It was fast, blurring in speed, but Harry had caught it by surprise when he had ducked and had bought himself a few precious seconds to get away. Now? He was stuck up a tree like a bleedin' cat hiding from a dog.

"What in the world have I ever done to you?" he asked the giant feline. "Nothing, that's what. Whatever that has your knickers in a twist, I'm sorry, but please let me go home." If Harry had been looking, he would have seen that the beast was calming. The purring sound did cause him to glance down and then glare at the beast when it smirked at him. "That was right mean of you, scaring me like that. If you weren't so bloody big, I'd sick Fred and George on you. Then we would have seen how well you fared."

Harry grumbled, grunting as a limb knocked the breath from him when his hand slipped from the higher branches. His footing was lost, his body feeling as if it were in a slow motion fall to the ground. He didn't scream, but he did sigh as this seemed to be the way he would die. Not by Voldemort, Death Eaters, nor even strange adventures during the school year with terrifying creatures and demonic dogs. Oh no, it would be by falling out of a blasted tree.

He expected to hit the ground with one of those sickening thuds people always talked and wrote about as ribs and spine broke or collapsed. Harry did hit something, warm heat embracing him, sharp points pricking his skin. He didn't feel anything but out of breath and maybe a little battered from the initial scramble, but not really hurt. Did this mean he was going to die? The grunting growl from under him as gravity stopped it's pull said no. Rolling off the soft cushion of heated warmth and fur stated that his captor had been the one to save him and the irony of the situation was weird enough to make Harry wonder if magic wasn't involved.

"Ye gods of irony . . . buzz the bloody hell off," he wheezed out. Struggling to his feet, Harry used his tree – he had fallen out of it and lived without broken bones, so it was _his_ now – to stay that way while he gasped in air. Gazelle seemed to be doing the same thing from where it laid on the ground. "Merlin, but you're huge. Uncle Vernon would have a heart attack if he saw you. Might not be a bad idea if he'd leave the rest of us alone," he muttered somewhat darkly. Sighing as he noticed the full dark of night, Harry stretched out to make sure he hadn't permanently damaged anything. Other than the slight creaking of his bones, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"What are we going to do with you, I wonder?" Harry said as he walked slowly towards the beast monster. "Can't leave you out here to be seen by the wrong person. They'd kill you or try to keep you as a pet."

Gazelle growled at that causing Harry to stop and wait. When the beast stood swiftly if somewhat laboriously, he trotted over and under Harry's hand so that the human youth would scratch his mane. Harry did so nervously, but bit back his need to be sarcastic. Stepping from the beast, Harry led the way to Number Four Privet Drive and through to the back yard. "No one can see you, okay? I think I have a card hidden with your name on it, but I'll have to find it. Maybe it will give me some idea of what to do with you. What do you eat? I might be able to get a few pieces of meat, but this isn't the friendliest house on the block. And no eating the neighborhood pets, especially Mrs. Fig's cats. It just wouldn't be right to do that."

Gazelle looked at Harry with unblinking eyes. When Harry threw his hands up in exasperation, the great big beast lumbered over and licked Harry's face with its sandy tongue. Harry spluttered as he backed into the house and closed the door, wiping his face down with his shirt sleeve once he had slid his prized jacket from his shoulders. It was then he noticed the little splotches of blood that had come from when he had fallen, most of them looking to have come from a four clawed creature of some sort. Harry sighed at the ruination of another shirt. The only way to save this one was by dying it a new color other than white. Checking to make sure there weren't any extra voices, Harry sighed as he remembered one extra car in the drive. He would just have to be silent and unseen.

Making his way to his room was nerve wracking. He had done it, no one seeing him or hearing his movements and when his head hit the pillow, he was out. Stress was finally taking it's toll.


	4. A Little Mortal Born of Gods StC

Harry Potter/Pet Shop of Horrors/The Pagemaster

Harry ran. He ran as fast as he could, tripping and slipping in the downpour, his snowy owl held in his arms with care. His only cape he had, the only one Vernon hadn't known about, was twisting about his frame as he held most of it to keep his girl dry in the vicious thunderstorm. It was close to an hour after the brutal damage dealt out to the defenseless owl and time was running out for poor Hedwig.

"Where is it?" he moaned in fright, his best friend dying in his arms. He felt the stickiness of blood dribbling down his arm despite his best efforts to stop it, tears flowing down his face to mingle with the rain. It was with a suddenness that he saw the lamp in the store front marking it, the new pet shop that claimed to have the best and the most exotic creatures and even boasted to have their own veterinary clinic. Harry felt his lungs release a sigh as he made his way to the darkened store. "Please let someone be here, please let someone be here," he chanted before banging on the door.

"Someone, help! Hedwig's hurt!"

The door opened silently but too quickly for Harry to catch himself properly. He fell forward and twisted his wrist since he had tried to catch himself single-handed. He groaned at the pain but grit his teeth and pressed himself up to look up—and up and up—to see a man that could compete with Veela and probably win with his looks. Only the extremely flat chest that had a semi-tight sleeveless sleeping shirt on gave evidence that it was guy, though.

"Help Hedwig. Please!" Harry nearly begged, his body trembling with cold and fear. Fear for his friend and maybe a little for this man standing so silent above him. "She's been hurt."

"Let me see her," he commanded softly in a tone Harry recognized as absolute authority. He didn't like that tone but he had no one else to help him right now.

"Hedwig, I need you to let him look at you, okay girl?" Harry whispered to his owl, his hand stroking her red flecked feathers softly before handing her off to the man. It was as if she had been electrified, the beautiful owl screeching in obvious displeasure, flapping her wings and showing one was near pulverized. Harry stood to lean over her as the man held her gently but firmly away from him. "Hedwig! Hedwig, please! I can't help you this time. I don't know how. Please, just let him heal you . . . please, girl."

Harry's voice was slowly getting softer, his eyes trying to shed the moisture gathered there but he held them back. "I couldn't stand it if you died. Com'on, Hed-girl, let him help you."

Hedwig settled down, her bright topaz eyes staring at him in what Harry would have called love if he had known that a human, let alone Hedwig, could give him that true emotion. As it was, he took it as a warm affection like any other beast would have for their care giver and feeder. He grinned softly at her and let the strange man take off to wherever, slipping down the wall near the door as he cradled his wrist to his chest. It was already swelling but he knew it wasn't broken . . . it didn't hurt enough for that. He blinked bleary eyes, little food combining with extreme exhaustion making him light headed. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh.

"_I smell a mortal."_

Harry jolted as he caught the words, sitting up to see what it was that had said it. It wasn't human . . . "Who's there?"

"_Why did my lord let that human mortal in? It isss insssssulting to ussss beasssstssssss."_

Harry looked down and blinked in mild acknowledgment at the brilliantly colored snake that could have been a gem made alive the red was so perfectly that of a fresh ruby. He snorted. _"Bloody sssnakesss are all the bloody well sssame. If it'sss not a reptile then why wasss it even born. I ssswear to Merlin, you're a bunch of bloody painsss in our collective human arsssesss." _

The snake reared back in shock and Harry chuckled tiredly. _"Yeah, I can understand you. Blame Voldemort . . . if you even know who that issss,"_ he murmured. His head went thunk on the wall as he let his body fall into a numbed sleep, head lolling against his shoulders. He was unaware of just what kind of ruckus he had unleashed by talking to the snake.

"_MASTER! MASTER, the mortal can hear me!"_

The strange man looked, not down, but directly ahead as if talking to a full grown man. "Anyone can hear you, Kusanagi-san. You're being loud enough."

The snake seemed to try and grab a hold of himself. _"That is not what I meant, Count D, and you know it! The human boy can _speak_ the snake language!"_

Count D stilled for a moment in his work, the owl passed out from blood loss but not dying any more. "What was that, Kusanagi-san? Mortals cannot speak the language of the beast anymore. The talent is lost to them and their closed-mindedness."

"_Not this one, D,"_ warned the reptile. With an imperious flick of his tail, Kusanagi was gone and Count D resumed his work, setting the wing and binding it after deciding to finish washing off the avian in the morning.

He put Hedwig in a soft nest of covers reserved to injured avian beasts, the owl not even stirring telling of how hurt and tired she was from her ordeal. Cleaning up, he stepped from the room . . . and into several of the animals within his care. One, a young albino falcon child handed him a book that was eerily familiar.

"Pagemaster, why have you permitted yourself to be taken again. It is undignified for a fellow god to be handled thus."

The book in his hand shook and shuddered, scroll-like pages appearing from nothing as a man took shape on the other side. There stood a man, tall and thin, his hair and beard like rolls of parchment curling down to his waist. A stately blue robe hung from his frame, a gold sash holding the fabric tightly to his waif thin waist. When he spoke, his words were like a breeze ruffling paper. "D, it has been a while, nephew."

D nodded. "That is has, Uncle. Why are you among the mortal plains?"

The old man ran a thin hand through his parchment beard. "There is one within your shop that is an Ancestor of ours. Grandfather Myrrlin truly has left a Legacy if the power of his blood has yet to diminish even as it is held by a mortal."

D felt a thrill of shock in his system, something that didn't happen often. "You are certain, Uncle?"

The old man laughed smugly. "Of course I am, my boy! My grandfather would be disappointed in such a small mistake if it had occurred. Come, let us see this Legacy of Myrrlin."

The sight in the entryway was saddening. There lay the boy, small and defenseless in sleep, glasses slipping off his nose. It was the sheer damage done to his arm that arrested their stately walk. Pagemaster knelt at his side, tenderly taking the wrist in his hand, smoothing surprisingly soft and smooth fingers over the swollen joint. The teen groaned in pain but didn't awaken. This was just as worrisome if not more so. No child should be used to high levels of pain.

"Get some ice and a bandage, nephew. He is in need of attention too."

D did as he was bade by his elder, the animals watching it all happen with slightly confused eyes. It was not often their master did as another ordered. As he came back through, he plucked herbs from the walls that would help sooth the bruising and numb some of the pain. By the time they were finished, Pagemaster was as furious as D had ever seen his uncle.

"When I had felt the Legacy, I had thought he would have been cared for. But no," he said in a thunder deep voice that reverberated through the whole shop, "he is severely neglected, in pain, and I assume traumatized. When I get my hands on the perpetrator, I will force a bit of truth down their throat!"

D nodded, his eyes far away. "It is unfortunate for his grievous injury, Uncle, but this have to wait. He will sleep here this night. On the morrow, we will wait for him to awaken since I very much doubt he would go far without Hedwig at his side."

Pagemaster nodded his assent and swirled away into his book once again. D left the book in the front room on a counter, leaving to finish his night's rest.

`':,~*~,:'`

Harry stirred from where he lay, wondering why his bed had a back that he was obviously snuggled into. That and it was far too soft. He opened his eyes intent on getting breakfast started when he noticed something that sent terror through him. He didn't recognize _where he was_.

He was up and over the back of the couch in one smooth move, back to the wall and eyes darting around, searching for anyone or anything. His mind was blurry on last night, his utter exhaustion leaving blind spots in his memory. A soft twinge brought part of his attention to his wrist, the bandage startling him more than being somewhere new had. His sight caught movement and he brought up his wand without a thought, the wood humming in his hand and his eyes started glowing eerily.

There was the man from last night, his dark eyes wide and looking slightly shocked at the teen. Harry didn't drop his stance but he did let his heart slow and his body slowly unwind. "Where is Hedwig? Is she alright?"

The man nodded hesitantly. "Yes, young Legacy. If you will disarm, follow me to your friend."

Harry sheathed the wand with a flick of his wrist, pulling the long – much too long – sleeves back above his wrist. "I had thought I hadn't made it," he confessed almost timidly from his earlier ferocity. "Will she be able to fly again?"

The man nodded. "She should. I was able to save most of her nerves and all of her bone and skin. Within the week she will be restless to be in the air again." 

Harry nodded. "May I ask your name?"

D again gave another surprised look. He had never had a human ask for his name in such a manner and he was quite . . . _old_ in mind if not in body. "Yes, young Legacy. You may address me as Count D or just D."

Harry looked at him. "I'm Harry. It is a pleasure to meet you, Count D."

D opened the door just in front of him, pushing on the lattice worked wooden doors. Hedwig was scratching at the covers bored, her topaz-copper eyes blinking slowly. Once her eyes lit upon Harry, she screeched in greeting, her impatience to be _out right now_ and with her human was more than she could stand with him _right there _and smiling softly at her. She went wild, Harry's smile slipping off.

"Hedwig, girl, calm down! Please," he admonished as he made his way over to his friend, unlocking the door without a care and helping her stand on his arm. "You silly bird, you could have hurt yourself even worse!" he scolded mildly, rubbing his fingers all along her chest and back. "Silly, silly girl."

Just then his stomach gurgled, the sound amusing as the boy turned a light shade of red. "Ah . . ." he stuttered out as Hedwig hooted in amusement. Even Count D suffered a momentary lapse as he chuckled into his hand softly. "Um . . . sorry?"

D waved his apology away. "Tis nothing, Harry. Come, have breakfast with me."

Barely trusting the man, Harry nodded warily as he once again followed, this time to solid oak doors that opened into a large kitchen-dining room combo that was more kitchen than dining room. Unfortunately, Count D didn't seem to know what to _do _with his kitchen. Harry, after watching for ten agonizing minutes while D burned two plates of eggs, shooed the man to the table and took over, trashing the spoiled eggs and starting over.

"I swear. Am I the only _man_ that can _cook_ or what? Is there some unwritten law that forbids men from being able to pick up a spatula and not kill food? I have seen bad attempts at cooking before but never this bad and I'm surprised he hasn't got food poisoning by now!" Harry ranted under his breath much to the amusement and enjoyment of the beasts within the shop and D though the rant was directed at him.

Hedwig, not to be left too long, hooted at her human, the boy grinning over his shoulder at her. "I'm making your bacon, you silly girl. Like I would forget you." He picked up a plate and moved over to the table, breaking the slices of bacon into smaller manageable bits she could pick up with ease. Setting the plate down with a clink, he went back to the stove with a small smile.

Count D was a bit more perplexed and astonished than what he was used to – which was usually not at all – as he stared at the enigma that was Harry, the last of the Legacy. The boy was wary, that was sure, of human contact. However . . . he showed a great kindness to his avian. Showered her with attention and almost spoiling her. Not quite, but almost. Most of the humans neglected usually tried to advance their misery on others, but he seemed more than content to give another living being what he himself could not achieve. It boggled D's mind.

There was a tentative knock on the door and a familiar blond head poked in. Ah, Detective Leon . . .

"Come and join us for breakfast, Detective."

A tall blond man stood in the door, his trademark brown trench coat brushing along his slacks as he twitched nervously. Harry smiled over at him. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Ah . . ." he murmured inaudibly. Harry looked at him as he finally made his request. "Sunny side up, please."

Fifteen minutes later and a feast of breakfast foods made the table almost groan, Leon sitting nearby D and Harry three seats down and on the other side of the table. The man might have saved Hedwig's life but he was wary all the same.

Hedwig nipped his ear almost sharply telling him to listen to her and her instincts. D was a good man. Harry silently argued it was because she was an owl that D liked her, he was human and therefore couldn't care less. Their staring contest was amusing to D while Leon stuffed his face obliviously. When Hedwig whopped Harry over the head with her uninjured wing, D had to stifle a small chuckle. It was amusing and odd to see such a sibling like relationship between species. However, D welcomed it. He could remember a time when any beast was considered family, brother and sister, or friend.

After cleaning the dishes and covering the leftovers, what Harry didn't sneak to the animals that "hid" behind the door, the ebony-haired teen helped Hedwig up to his shoulder. "I can't thank you enough," he murmured softly as his fingers coaxed a relaxed coo from the snowy owl. "You saved my friend and for that I am grateful. If you ever need anything, let me know."

D pondered the human child, his eyes almost softening. "There are a few things I want you to have and do not say no." He watched as the human boy had trouble keeping his words. "It is a favor to me for you to do this. It will benefit you enormously, but it _is_ a favor to me paid in full."

He took a bag with the shop logo and put first a pan for the incense and a box of matches, four bundles of a red and purple incense, three books, one dish of treats for Hedwig, and a think blanket with owls of every kind stitched into it. Harry dutifully took the bag even as he felt a twinge that he shouldn't take advantage of Count D's hospitality. D didn't give him time to pretest as he pushed him out of the store, the tall and thin man waving him off with a cheery-ish smile that Harry found was half scary.

"Is it me, Hedwig, or is that man a little weird?"

Hedwig chortled into a wing at the thought of her human calling anyone else weird when he himself was not that typical. Harry practically heard the words and rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't you even think it! I am not that bad."


	5. Light Has No Place Here

NOT Harry Potter at all, but I thought this one should get a vote in too.

_**shen-gong-wu**_

**Characters:**

Omi – bald boy – wind

Raimundo – brown haired menace – water

Clay – cowboy – earth

Kimiko – little Miss Kick-Butt – fire

Jack Spicer – "bad guy"

Wuya – psycho ghost/woman

Chase – Dragon-shifter with a need to rape the unwilling

_Shen Gong Wu_

Raimundo rubbed a hand down his face. This place was driving him nuts. The others had already reported to have gotten out, but he was looking for something else, something that had bothered him since the last time Jack Spicer had fought them for the enchanted Xaolin artifacts called shen-gong-wu. The red-eyed boy had gone through the motions of fighting, of trying to defeat them and doing his usual monologue about how he was the best . . . but it hadn't rang true. Even Omi, little ball of innocent naivety, caught on.

_Rai, buddy, ain't it 'bout time ya done got out?_

Raimundo turned the radio down but responded with a whisper. "Something isn't right, Clay. I'll be there when I can, but this is wrong . . ."

_You felt that, too?_

Rai felt his face heat up. He might not be the most thoughtful or caring person, but he didn't do most of it deliberately. He knew when something was wrong, thank you very much. "I'm not that bad, guys. Just a little like Omi at times: unaware."

_Ya can say that again._

_Uh, huh._

_What was it about Omi? This Omi do not know._

Ignoring the others, he turned the radio all but off, the tiny voices being lost to the silence of the tunnel he was scrapping through. What he wouldn't give for the Orb right about now to wash out the stench of blood . . . Blood? _The hell?_

Rai was around the corner and looking down into a well lit pit the would make any within blind to anyone at the top but afforded him an unblocked view below. Bile curdled at the back of his throat and his mind blanked in horror.

Jack was bared to the world, his head hung low and his hair sticky with his own blood. The white make-up was gone, but he was still incredibly pale, not one tan line to break the porcelain cream skin. His chest rested on a dull gray slab of stone that matched the room, making it nearly invisible if one hadn't really looked. Over him stood an equally naked, but far from alluring Chase. He was transformed, his scales gleaming in the lights and his limp organ glossy with spent seed. Though Raimundo couldn't see, exactly, from where he stood, he was sure that Jack had been . . . had been—His mind refused to finish that sentence, as if by thinking it would make it more real. He couldn't handle more _real_ than what he was seeing.

"Ah, my pet, with the Geisha Sword and Shield, you shall bear me heirs of great power. And with the Geisha Seed, more than one this time," Chase purred arrogantly to all and sundry. He patted a flinching Jack on the head as one would a dog and left smirking as he let his human form reveal itself. "Do not worry, I only want a few. After that, you shall be released from my service, if a little more permanently that you might wish."

The bone chilling cackle that followed had Rai shivering in disgust. He had seen what he might have called beasts and monsters, but Chase Young was far too much a monster in his own right to allow Raimundo to call any enemy such now. Chase grabbed up a robe and sauntered out the door, a metallic echo signaling the lock being turned into place. The lights were dropped down and Rai was half glad he was unable to see anything but worried about how he was going to find Jack. His silent inquiry was answered minutes later by a stray beam of light that filtered in from the cavern ceiling and down into Jack's holding cell where he was still crouched forwards over the stone slab.

Rai couldn't figure out why until the chains clanked, the same dull gray of the rock, and Jack finally moved to crawl away from the stone. His breathing was becoming ragged and harsh as he let out muffled sobs that made Rai's heart ache at the sound. Not even a great enemy should be treated like this, much less an ally to your own side.

With silent sure steps, Raimundo was down inside the pit and making his way through the shadows to Jack. "Jack," he whispered almost in the pale boy's ear. The red-haired genius jumped like a scalded cat and whimpered softly. Rai stepped from the deepest shadow and held out his hands. "Come on, Spice-buddy, it's me, Raimundo. Let's get you out of here, 'kay?"

Jack sobbed hard and nodded his head. "Please . . . please, Rai. I want to leave," he rasped in an over-used voice as he swallowed convulsively. Rai had to swallow too to keep from crying out at the injustice of it all. Jack Spicer might be a brat and an annoyance but this was far too low for him to fall.

"Yeah, buddy, you're gonna come with me," Rai said quietly. He slipped out of his Gi and draped the too big top around Jack's shoulders. With his tongue to the side, Rai managed to pick the locks on the shackles with the pen in his pocket and a hairpin Kimiko had forced on him earlier in her rush. When it came time for Jack to stand, Rai knew he wouldn't be able to. As soon as the red-haired boy got farther than his knees, he shook with the effort of balancing upright and trying to walk.

Raimundo sighed and scooped the smaller boy up. He had been surprised that he, Rai, had been so much bigger than Spicer. But then again, Jack was from a very short to average family while Rai had very tall relatives that towered over six feet. And Jack was so delicate . . . His shoulders and hips were of a similar width making him much more feminine than Raimundo had thought possible. But, it wasn't _only_ that. The black around his eyes, which should have been running like ink blots down his cheeks, enhanced his femininely beautiful face.

Rai ignored the puzzle of the no-run makeup and covered as much of the other boy up as he was currently capable with the Gi before tying it into place one-handed. Loose but it would do. It was past time to leave this hell-spawned dungeon. Shifting the light bundle to the side as he cradled the limp form of Jack, Rai managed to crawl back up the steep incline with the one hand and great use of his other elbow. Blood ran down his arm and he knew Chase would be able to scent him through that, but right now didn't seem to be the time to mop up the mess. Pushing Jack over the lip of the ledge, Raimundo shuffled up into the tiny balcony-like precipice he had previously been watching from.

"Come on, buddy, we're almost out of here now. The hard part is over," Rai murmured to the shivering form that looked way too small to be his enemy of not even half an hour ago. He held Jack to his chest, hand under his upper back, other under his thighs, grimacing when his arm slipped into what he suspected to be blood. They both were so going to be bathing when Dojo got them back to the shrine.

Twenty minutes later he was walking into the light of late day, early evening. Kimiko called out to him before a gasp was heard, and then another from the ever spastic Omi. Clay's face had paled to a shade or so darker than Jack's own complexion before hard color rose in his cheeks.

"Dojo, get us to that temple," the tall Texan boy ordered.

"Who are you to—to . . . Oh, mah gosh!" Dojo spun quickly into his larger form, the dragon stretched out and ready to go in seconds. "Hop on and hold tight. We're moving at high speed, kids."

Kimiko and Omi were on first, then Raimundo with Jack still cradled to his body, Clay pushing him up onto the dragon when he couldn't seem to get Jack to let go. Clay was behind them all and close to Rai just in case as Dojo took off at speeds previously thought impossible to the dragon.

"Sensei isn't here!" Kimiko cried out as they came to a stop. "He's off visiting the monks at the Tonbo Monastery."

Clay slid off Dojo and watched as Raimundo did the same with Jack in his arms. "Yeah, but he's supposed to be back within the week. I think we can handle that for now. We need to get to work on our spirit animals anyway." Clay stretched up and seemingly ignored the furious screech of the only girl. Omi only nodded and followed.

"Yes, yes, the ancient Native American Indians were quite well versed in finding their spiritual guides. Sensei would be pleased if we were to achieve a greater understanding of who and what we are through our newest exercise."

Rai gave Clay a nod of thanks as he slipped into the bathing house without a word. Checking for towels and sensitive soaps, Raimundo tried to set a thoroughly embarrassed red-headed boy on the in-ground tub's edge. While being mostly asleep, Jack refused to be without his security blanket – namely one Raimundo.

"Jack," Rai said softly since his voice seemed to startle the drowsing boy. "Jack, we've got to get you clean, buddy. Come on, let me run the water and then it'll be you getting a good wash to get all that dirt and stuff off, 'kay?"

Jack gave a bleary glare that fell flat as his eyes drooped. "No . . . leave."

"You want me to leave?" Rai questioned bemused. Jack shook his head in what Rai assumed was a negative gesture so he pondered the words. "Do you want me to stay?"

The instant bobbing in affirmative had Rai stifling a chuckle. Even beaten, hurt, and barely able to stay awake, Jack was still making demands. "Alright, I'll stay. And then, when you're clean, how about a long nap?" Jack just kind of lolled about in Rai's arms causing he brown haired boy to grin softly. "Okay, I'm putting you down now, so don't worry. I'm not leaving."

The next ten minutes it took to fill the giant whirlpool style tub, gather soaps, towels and a change of clothes each, and getting Jack to finally release the Gi top, Rai was exhausted. _He_ could probably do with a good nap, most likely with Jack cuddling up with him in his room since the boy genius seemed attached to him now. Not that he would complain . . . it was just weird if he stopped to think about it.

Rai stripped to his boxers and inched into the warm-almost-hot water with a sigh. Turning back, he noticed that Jack had finally heralded the call to sleep and was out cold. Trying not to startle the other youth into wakefulness, the brunet gently lowered the abused body into the waters with him, cradling the dead weight in his lap. The first thing he was going to do was wash out that hair and restore it to its crimson color. So thinking, he grabbed a bottle of baby shampoo that Kimiko used and squirted a large dollop onto Jack's sagging locks.

"Ew, I'm not sure what you went through, but that is one nasty bump, Spice-buddy," Rai commented as he ran his fingers through the dried blood and caked hair until it softened with the water and soap. Rinsing said hair was harder than he had thought since getting water in his face might make him panic and he had no cup to scoop out water. Raimundo was this close to smacking himself in the face for forgetting something like that. "Now what do I do?"

"Use the rag, Rai," Clay helped, the taller Texan boy standing right inside the door but no closer. Raimundo gave a glare worthy of the deepest and hottest fires but the blond ignored it. "I have no intention of doin' anythin', just makin' sure you didn't need help. Medical supplies are in yer room, along with a few filched clothes closer to his size. If I didn't know any better, though, I would say that Jack there has become a lot smaller since we last fought. It ain't right, and somethin' is wrong about the entire thang." Clay sighed and pushed his cowboy hat up. "Be careful, a'ight? And see if yer spirit animal can help. Mine's a chatterbox of the worst kind but very bright and worried about somethin' concernin' Jack."

Raimundo hadn't known that Clay had gotten to his spirit animal . . . But then again, while he and the Texan were close friends, they didn't tell each other everything as it happened. Usually. Sometimes. Hell, Clay must have just gotten his own spirit animal if he was talking about the dang thing.

"Fine, I will. And," Rai said as the other boy was leaving, "thanks. I was wondering how I was going to fix that."

"No problem, bud. Just get him healed up, a'ight?"

Rai just waved his free hand and picked up one of the rags by the edge. When the screen was closed with soft snap, Raimundo had the hair of his once enemy cleaned out and rinsed. The resulting blood stained water was sucked up by the handy little vacuum the sensei of the shrine had installed back when they had first came home really hurt. It saved the amount of water they had to use instead of having to refill the entire tub again. Ingenious, really.

"Now to wash the rest of you, right?" Raimundo asked no one in particular. He set the used rag in one of the bins and grabbed a second larger towel and the medicinal bar of soap. While having Jack awake right now would be helpful, having the other boy unconscious would be best. The pain of having an abused and raped body cleansed, while a good thing to finally be clean, might bring on flashbacks of the worst kind and Rai just might not be emotionally strong enough to help the crimson haired boy. The jagged feeling of gently dragging the rag across the scratches along his stomach and lower back had the brunet wincing in sympathy. The muffled whimpers brought him to his metaphorical knees as his vision blurred for some odd reason.

Rubbing the soap again on the towel, he dabbed at the wounds on the feet and calves, the lower thighs and finally the groin and . . . the bruising was beyond anything Raimundo had ever seen. All up the back and tops of the thighs, the buttocks patchy black and blue and purple with claw and finger prints dark in the skin. A sound of keening filled his ears and he couldn't find where it was coming from. Not until he pulled his hand up to wipe the streaming wetness from his face and eyes, barely acknowledging he was the one crying, did it occur to him that he was the one making such a sound of utter despair. Rai clutched Jack to him as he gasped and sobbed soundlessly.

"Please . . . please, if anyone is listening, make the hurt go away," he babbled so softly as if to whisper in prayer. He wasn't sure if he was asking on the behalf of Jack or of himself, but at this point he didn't care as his very heart clenched in pain. If felt as if forever had passed, but he was sure it couldn't have been ten minutes before Rai pulled himself back together and finished washing the crimson haired teen and wrapped him in two of the large towels usually reserved for Sensei. With a quick dry down and redressing, Rai had Jack to his room in record time, Kimiko still smoldering over Clay and Omi outside and the little yellow cue-ball being as dense and naïve as ever enraging the girl further.

In Rai's room, Clay sat meditating, his pose relaxed even as he invaded the surfer's refuge. Rai felt a small bit of comfort unfurling in his chest even as anger blossomed hotly. He had wanted to be alone, to take time and figure out what was wrong, how his views had become so skewed so quickly. He didn't snap—no, he held his temper under tight reign. It was not Clay's fault, or Spicer's or anyone he personally knew. No, it was Chase's fault and taking his anger out on the draconic male was tempting but a currently foolish endeavor.

"Help me?" he wondered aloud, Clay peeking an eye open in response to the quiet inquiry.

"Sure, buddy," the nodded his head.

Jack was laid out, his highly abused body exhausted and tarnished with dark splotches. Clay held Jack as Rai slid on the too large t-shirt that fell all the way to Jack's knees, the shorts a little too short to peek from under the overly large shirt. Nothing could be done for the bruising until the healing salve was finished at the end of the month – still nineteen days away – but they did wake him long enough to force feed him some pain numbing herbs Sensei had taught them about.

"What do I do now?"

Clay looked over at the bewildered dark-haired teen, his light blue eyes softening. "Now, ya wait and just take a deep breath, hopin' that when they wake up, ya can control yer anger at the one that hurt 'em. No sudden movements, touches, or harsh words. Let 'im know that you're in the room with 'im. Don't sneak around and talk to him softly. It will change, but that's what you're gonna need to do for right now."

Rai sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he crossed his legs Lotus-style. "Oh, gods, Clay. What I saw . . . What Chase did to him! How can anyone do that to someone?" He buried his face in his knees, arms around his head. "I just . . . I can barely believe it and I _saw it_, damn it!"

Clay rubbed his hand over Rai's shoulders. "I can't explain why someone would do that, Rai, but I can tell ya that we won't let it happen again. S'not right nor is it goin' ta be tolerated a'tall. We'll get Chase, believe me, but that's gonna take some time to build up tah. We ain't strong enough yet." Sitting back in his previous pose, he poked Rai lightly. "Now, tah help ya get yerself tagether, you're gonna meditate and try an' find yer spirit guide. An' no back talk, ya need this."

Rai felt too drained to really persist in being difficult, his head bouncing in a nod. "Fine. Whatever." He was internally laughing as Clay's accent became stronger, more pronounced as he got more emotional about the events. It always made him feel better that Clay was not as level headed all the time as he seemed. It gave him a release to feel just as strongly without feeling as if he was violating some unspoken rule. The warm almost-smile Clay gave was worth it, too.

"A'ight, Rai. Ya put yerself somewhere calming. How 'bout a beach?"

Rai shook his head as his eyes closed. No, a beach was a place of enjoyment and adrenaline, waves and adoration. Not peace.

"Fine. Listen tah me, Rai, and let me help ya on this one," Clay instructed. While water was a generally _stable_ element, it was a deep one, hard to see the depths of all the nooks and crannies. Rai was the same way and he was going to have to wing it without picking a place randomly and hoping for a hit home. "Blank yer mind, think of nothing but blue. It surrounds ya, holdin' yer weight and taken ya up higher and higher to the lighter edges, the streak of solid light makin' the world around ya glow. Up you go, taking a deep breath when ya reach the surface . . ."

_Shen Gong Wu_

Jack felt the warmth and snuggled tightly into the comfort, his nerves barely aching and his body feeling deliciously clean.

. . .

Wait. _Clean_?

He cracked an eye, his gaze widening when Rai's soft sleeping face breathed against his collar as the larger teen held him like a Teddy. He would have stiffened if it weren't for the fact that he was dressed and warm and . . . and cared for. He moved back a little, another body laying there deeply asleep. He turned his head to see Clay, sans Cowboy hat, not _caging_ but holding him and Rai in a protective embrace. He had to admit, they made a handsome pair of book ends, one all dark and lithe, the other lighter and built like a charging bull.

While Rai was larger than Jack, Clay towered and dwarfed them both since the blond was at the very least a head taller than Rai and more so for himself. And so broad! He was so wide in the shoulders, the thick musculature almost daunting for the sheer size. Rai was thin and fast, his body so wonderfully muscled in such a way as to be sculpted without the overzealous body-builder style. He sighed and snuggled into Clay, Rai scooting closer in sleep to keep the warmth of Jack's body tight to his own.

With a contented sigh, he drifted back off with a small smile. He was safe, warm, cared for and tended, and – enemy or not – these two seemed to care for him. Now if only they could help him further . . .


	6. Whos in the Looking Glass

Jojo had had it. He had fought with the Whos at school from eight am to five pm over something too stupid to even think about, had a yelling row with his sisters over the special treatment he _didn't_ want to begin with, and a ten second screaming match – where Jojo did most of the screaming – with his father over being Mayor before walking away. And this was the final straw.

"Honey, your father was only trying to help you and let you know about . . . your future." His mother stood in the door, her eyes sad as her only son hid himself under the covers. "I . . . I know you don't _want_ to be Mayor, but the only way to get out of it would be bequeathing the position to your oldest younger sister when you come of age."

Jojo sighed and looked at the brown-furred face of the only person who actually _got_ that he _didn't_ want to me the effin' Mayor of Whoville. "But Mum . . . what if I left? What if I disappeared? Would that work?"

Sally was very reluctant to actually answer this question but her baby boy needed the answer more than she needed him to stay on and be miserable beyond his limits. "I – yes, that could work. But, please, just try and think of another option, Jojo. I love you and I would miss you very much if you had to leave."

He nodded slowly, having already thought of the other options and, short of death, there were none left.

Once his door clicked shut, Jojo took out a calligraphy brush and a special type of ink. No one knew _where_ it had come from, but Jojo would bet that it had come from Above. May hap not from Horton – an elephant with a less than sensible mind – but some_one_ had dropped it. He applied the newly blackened tip to a dark stripe, letting the ink flow into the shapes he had found within a scroll so old the edges crumbled and the ink had faded into near illegible scrawls across the parchment. This was far from the first time he had started and the ink had never faded – never washed or wore – as it tattooed his skin softly. Only the slightest of tingling let him know that there was more to this ink than was seen.

Once finished on the stripes covering his back, the mirror used liberally, he attached a bracelet made of his mother's and seven youngest and favorite sisters' hair. A gift for helping save Whoville, or so they had said, but more of a way to keep them all close to him and in remembrance. It was an ancient custom lost some time ago, according to his mother, and used only when needed. According to the timeless records, saving the town was a good time as any.

Jojo sighed tiredly, like he had every time he did this, as he felt suddenly drained beyond belief. It was almost a full six months in Whoville since Horton had saved the "world on the speck" with a few technical difficulties along the way. Mayor Ned, his father, had started pushing Jojo to learn more about his "destined" position immediately afterward . . . with little success with even his bulldog like tenacity. Jojo did. Not. WANT! Did not! Give to someone else! Put someone in charge that cared! But Jojo wanted nothing to do with it.

Scrubbing his face, he sat down to rest, maybe relax for a second. The knock on his door didn't seem to get the message. Stalking to it, he flung the door to his portal wide.

Several of the girls, most of them the older ones, stood like tin soldiers in the hall. "What were you thinking? Screaming at Dad? Are you stupid? What's the point of making you Mayor if your such a bitch about it?" his oldest younger sister barked out.

"Get your ugly ass together! Seriously, what good _are_ you to us other than our ticket to being Mayor?" ordered the blue and purple sister.

"Talking to Dad like that? Shut the eff up, Jojo, or I'll make you!" taunted the only red one.

"Stupid little shit, I'm seven years _younger_ and I'm seven inches taller! What's the point of having such a wimpy little shit as Mayor?" pointed the Sally-clone sister out with vicious glee.

"Yeah! I mean like, you're the _oldest_ and the _son_! You can get the only job that _we_ want and you friggin' loose it? What's your deal, Jojo?" snapped the second oldest.

"Fuggin' retard needs to get his ass in gear!" mumbled the shortest – still taller than Jojo – as she rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, grow up, you idiot baby! Just bequeath your title to us! We'll take care of Whoville like it should be!" snarled the tallest of the seven with a grimace.

Jojo stared at the girls, his eyes void of all thought and emotion, making the girls squirm. He blinked slowly, his eyes hiding the rage and anger inside. "If you want it, take it. I'll give to you with free reign," he blithely told them.

Leaving them stunned, he slammed the door in their faces and decided to skip dinner. It wouldn't be worth the verbal abuse when they were outside of their parents' hearing range. Opening his window, he slid out and jumped, landing a little harder than he had wanted. Wincing as he stood, he trudged up to the tower with a rock in hand. Knowing only his father had come up here and that had been the one time, he felt relatively safe in his giant music room.

Tweaking one of the Whosafoons and stretching the use of the koptatunes, he felt himself relax and feel the comfort that music had brought him for the past several years. He sat back to hear some of the smaller instruments, a small smile on his face. He wasn't sure when it happened or how with the music quite loud, but he had fallen asleep on one of the drums. His mother stood over him with a relieved expression and a sad smile. Beside her was a pack, the contents near bulging the sides out.

"Good morning, Jojo," she near whispered. "I . . . I – um – oh, honey, I brought you some things, a few foods that won't go sour quickly as well as your grooming kit and . . . that _stuff_ in your secret drawer."

Jojo jolted completely awake at this, his eyes wide. Sally did smile at his horrified expression. "No, baby, I didn't look. I just kind of felt around and stuffed it in the bag with my eyes closed. Other than the fact that I found it, I'm none the wiser for what's in it."

Jojo let out a relieved sigh. With a grunt as his tingly-sleep legs wobbled, he hugged his mother tight. "Thanks, Mom. You are the best."

Sally patted his cheek and caressed his hair to his shoulder in a motherly fashion. "I heard the girls yesterday and decided that this would be best. No one knows about this and your room is as neat as ever. A quick note left here for your father would be best since talking to him is no good."

Jojo felt like the weight of the world flew from his shoulders, near laughing in exuberance.

"Now, we need to hurry because the search party is coming closer," she mused, helping Jojo quiet the instruments with an expert touch. She was a mother to _several_ children, after all. "The escape hatch to the tower is right here," she plucked a Who-sized cover from the wall to reveal a previously well guarded secret of a sorts. "Take it. I heard it goes all the way to the edge of Whoville. There, you should be able to use this." She handed him a fur dye. "It's temporary but lasts three weeks to a month. It will help throw people off looking for a gray and black Who."

Jojo's jaw dropped. Was his mother an escapee or what?

"Oh, don't look at me like that, honey. I'm just smarter than I let on. Makes me fell all snuggle-warm when I can get people back without their knowledge to which Who it was." She grinned deviously and ruffled his hair. "Now, through the hatch. You know what to do, baby." She kissed his forehead and hugged him tight, "I and your closest sisters will always love you, no matter what you hear. And if you need me, just write to me with the name Ciardha Dunn. I'll know it's you. The spelling and the meaning are in your bag for later. Love you, baby."

Jojo nodded as he hugged her tight before swinging into the escape hatch with his bag after him. "Love you, Mom," echoed back to Sally causing a tear to come to her eye. Her baby boy wasn't a baby anymore . . .

`'.,~*~,.'`

The three weeks had passed, no one the wiser that the kid on the edge of town was Jojo, Mayor's missing son. He was Ciardha Dunn. Kind of a mixed translation of Darkly Black. It suited since he was now a solid black and wore black contacts. No Who had ever been solid black but he was quickly accepted as he stayed mostly to himself. Tonight he was to finish what he had come to call runes, the scroll now covering the entirety of his torso and back, but never did he venture to his arms or legs again and only once to his face to put one mark on his cheek. He wasn't sure _why_ he did it, but it felt right.

Looking over the scroll again, he pondered about the last rune, one that couldn't be fit on his chest or stomach or back. He sat and thought about it as the ink dried quickly, his brown eyes lazily flickering between the mirror and his own body. He twitched a toe, tapping it on the floor in a soft beat.

His head popped up, his body stilling. That was it! He could put it on the bottom of his foot! No one would think to look there! Not that he was thinking of _why_ anyone would want to know, but the solution was logical to him on several levels. Left foot done, he nearly had the ink capped before a feeling swept up his spine like ice.

With a shaking hand, he painted the same mark on his left hand. Another graced the left side of his neck. Jojo wasn't sure why there was only _one_ on his right side – his cheek – and three on the other, but now he felt balanced, centered, complete . . . _whole_. Flicking the cloth covered bracelet of hair on his left wrist he felt, for the first time, like he was happy, content. It was a drugging feeling that made him high with joy.

Turning to see his work in the mirror across from him in the bathing room, his eye widened in complete astonishment. There were worlds in conflicting images gracing the reflective surface, none the exact same and very few similar. In one, he saw Horton dancing with young beasts that he had never seen before, another was like looking into a volcano, the very air an acrid black. One featured a world similar to his own, a green creature amongst the Whos, and yet one with beings without any fur and lights of flashing color blinking by. There were many more, so many his head would spin, but these four were the clearest and largest within the looking glass.

He was up, striding determinedly into the bathroom to see more clearly, maybe figure out how it was that he saw the worlds within worlds. It was positively mind boggling and terrifying and yet . . . it was so exhilarating that he couldn't look away.

Jojo leaned forward, hand raised not to touch, but to see more clearly. Unfortunately, he discovered the clumsiness that existed in his family at the most inopportune time. He stumbled on the loose rug, hand going out to catch himself and landing on one of the worlds. Instead of catching on the mirror, his hand, then arm went through . . . the rest of him following milliseconds later to his startled yelp.

`'.,~*~,.'`

Harry was doing all he could to clean the bathroom, scrubbing the toilet vigorously. Grimwauld place was not very nice to live in, no, and filthier than anything the almost OCD cleaning addict could stand, but he would have a clean bathroom come hell or high water! It helped that he was subtly using his magic to speed the process up. A sparkling clean toilet later allowed him to scrub out the shower-tub and sink with relative ease. Only the mirror gave him any difficulties and that was more due to the old and now unreliable spells worked into the glass. Actually, they were near nonexistent but small traces were there and causing gunk to stick like glue.

Wiping his brow on his sleeve, he grinned in satisfaction that the bathing room was finally restored to a manageable state of cleanliness. However, the rippling surface had him wondering if he should have used his magic to speed along the clean up as the worry in his gut told him this was . . . well, not unnatural but unusual. Unnatural came with just _being_ a wizard so that instinct had all but curled up and went to sleep. Instinctive hibernation at its best.

The hand that came through the mirror let on that more than he could see was happening and he moved out of the way and into the shower-tub. Just in time too, since a body came tumbling out, being flung into the opposite wall like a rag doll. A naked doll . . . oh boy.

"Ugh," came a muffled cry from the person, Harry feeling his compassion welling up but gently tempered by his Slytherin mindset.

Still. "Are you okay?" he asked the pained figure softly. The dark haired person lifted rich chocolate eyes to his own vibrant green, the hair long and near covering the person entirely. All he got was an impression of translucent skin shrouded in dark softly curling waves of thick hair framing a heart-shaped face and large brilliantly brown eyes before banging began.

"Harry! Are you alright, me boyo?" bellowed a familiar voice. Harry felt panic fill him. How did he hide a naked person who had fallen out of a mirror not even a minute ago?

"Aye, listen to 'im. Are yeh alright?" trumpeted another voice, the mate to the first. Fred and George. Merlin! He was doomed! Doooooom—Oh, that could work.

"Get in the tub and turn on the shower. Hurry!" he hissed to his smaller companion. The boy – the evidence was a little too _bare_ not to notice – hobbled on stiff yet rubbery legs to the tub, pulling the curtain closed once inside. "What do you bloody well want?" Harry snipped to those outside.

"Why, to make sure-"

"Our favorite boyo-"

"Is well and-"

"Sexy as always!"

Harry blinked and shook his head. Those two made his brain hurt. "I'm fine, Fred, George. Nothing but a small trip into the wall. Bashed my elbow but I think I'll live," he mused aloud. The two whined for a minute or two before barging in anyway, Harry down to his trousers that were unzipped. Fred had his wash bag in one hand while George carried a few towels.

Grinning like loons, Fred held up the wash bag. "If you're taking a shower, aren't you forgetting something?" he asked with a grin. Harry rolled his eyes.

"If I left my wash things where you two could get a hold of it, why would I use _those_ wash things?"

Fred shared a look with his twin. "You mean to tell us," George started. "That this is _not_ your wash bag?"

Harry grinned deviously. "I didn't say that, I just asked why I would use tampered products when I could have replacements."

Taking advantage of their brains being bent by someone "out thinking" them, he grabbed both bag and towels, shooing them off and locking the door behind them. He heaved a sigh as he rested on the door, rolling his eyes when the twins demanded to be let back in. "Not a chance, so go away. I generally shower alone . . . and most especially without you two clowns to spell or hex me at every turn."

Sure that the two wouldn't barge in, he walked calmly to the bath, expecting to see something . . . just not this. The silent person – for other than the yelp they had not said a word – was staring in shock at his hands and arms, patting himself down in desperation as tears filled his eyes and near finished their journey down his cheeks. Harry grabbed the frantic hands in his own as he stepped out of his trousers and into the bath with his boxers creating a private barrier. "Shh, shhhh, calm down," he murmured softly as he wrapped his arms around the terrified and shivering boy. The warm water streamed over them as they carelessly ignored it, steam forming on the freshly cleaned glass mirror. "Now, tell me if you can what is wrong. I won't judge you nor will I tell you to leave." Harry tilted the chin of the boy up. "I won't turn you away when you need help."

Lips trembled and eyes shimmered. Jojo had never felt so terrified and alone before . . . and now he had no _fur_. And his hair! It was so long he could nearly stand on it! This was so wrong . . . so horribly and completely wrong and no one knew what was going on!

The male in front of him tugged him deeper into a hug, the taller boy giving comfort where he could. "Sh, now," he murmured into Jojo's hair as he rocked them under the warm spray. Jojo felt himself shiver for no reason at all and wrapped his thin arms around the figure giving him comfort. "I – I, I wanna go back home but I don't know how," he wobbled out in sadly horrified tones. "I had painted runes on, because it felt right, and now . . . I'm here and not there and, and, and-"

The one called Harry closed his mouth for him, the greenest eyes of any being he had ever seen smiling at him. "I'll help you."

Those three words might have been nothing to anyone else, but to Jojo, they were like warmth made solid as he gripped harder, tighter to his new comfort. "Thank you."

Nodding his head lightly, Harry set about grabbing his washing things, holding up the shampoo for Jojo. "Do you need help washing your hair?"

Jojo nodded. "Please?"

It, and everything else, ended up being embarrassing in the extreme but also too nice to ever forget. Jojo almost wished for it to continue but he knew better. Once he was found out, the being in front of him would have nothing to do with him. However . . . he had to try.

Harry helped Jojo dry the long hair, taking his brush to the strands from the bottom up. He had traded his soaked boxers for one of the towels and sat comfortably on the toilet lid. "Do you want to tell me or should we wait a bit?"

Jojo shivered and something caught Harry's eye. It had only flashed across his skin for a second, but black scroll work had danced all over his back, buttocks, and in bands around his arms and legs. "I – I'm not what you are, what ever it is you are," came like a soft breeze, small and nearly ignored but noticed. Harry was glad for his sharp hearing. "I am not even sure what _you _are, but I am a Who. I have fur all over, black and gray stripes, and a short bob cut of hair. I . . . I don't know what happened, but when I touched the mirror with all the worlds within worlds . . . I _fell_."

Harry felt himself wondering how when he saw the marks become more visible, lasting longer. "Did you . . . did you ever figure out what those runes mean?" Harry pondered as he slid the brush the length of the hair. Deftly finishing, he seized the long curtain of silk to wrap into a thick braid. "Did you read the words on whatever you had gotten them from?"

Jojo shrugged. "Most of the words had crumbled with age. Only the runes seemed to have survived mostly intact. It seemed wrong – _felt _wrongto leave it that way. When an ink unlike anything we had ever seen found its way to Whoville, I bought it and used it to do the runes. It was first on my arm to see if it would make me sick or hurt, but I had felt nothing more than slightly drained yet invigorated."

Wrapping the end of the braid with a string from his discarded pant's pocket, he held Jojo from behind as the marks made themselves visibly known. Jojo gasped upon seeing his entire body more-or-less covered in the strange black of the ink. "I think, that when you use too much power, they fade. But when your magical core isn't drained so badly, or your body interfered with from an outside source, they show up. See?"

He let go and the marks faded to almost nothing, but when he held Jojo, they flared darkly against the delicate looking skin. Jojo nodded. "Then . . . you have magic?" he turned to look at Harry over his shoulder, richly dark brown eyes peering at him warmly. "Can you get me home?"

Harry shook his head. "Not now. In this world magic is restricted and kept under law. I loathe it, feel the strangle hold the Ministry has put on natural magics, but I must go with it for now."

Jojo gave a violent shiver. Harry held tighter, warming his back and shoulders and giving comfort. "I-" he fell silent for a moment as words tumbled through his head, determinedly pushing to be released form his mouth. "I am here t-to fix the magic, to free it, and recreate a balance." His hand shot to his mouth as the words poured forth, fear spiking up his spine.

Harry stood, hugging Jojo as close as he could. That was not something that this person would say on a whim. You didn't have to know him well to see this. "You know, we don't even know each others name. I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

Jojo chuckled softly at such a name. Oh, the irony. "I'm Jojo McDodd. A pleasure, I'm sure." Harry tilted his head, Jojo fighting the need to giggle like a girl. What was it about Harry that made him so relaxed and easy? "So . . . what are you? I'm a Who, that you already know, from Whoville which is somewhere-"

"Through the looking glass? I'll have to give you a book to read one day," Harry mused aloud. "I am a human, or homosapien. This is Earth and we are somewhere in London, England. My school is in Scotland . . . _somewhere_."

Jojo looked at Harry hard. "Just how big is this Earth?"

Harry mused for a second on just how large the world was. "Large enough to hold five-to-six billion people?"

Eyes bugging and jaw at his knees, Jojo stared at Harry in absolute awed disbelief. After ten seconds and no response, Harry chuckled and shut Jojo's jaw for him. "No catching flies like that. S'not healthy."

Peeking out the door, Harry saw no one as he sneaked Jojo to the room beside his and Ron's. His disgust over the filth of the place a guest was to stay in was the final straw. "That's it. That. Is. _It_! Dobby? Winky? I need some help!"

The two elves popped in, one in fluorescent green and yellow and the other slightly drunk and swaying in her pink dress. Harry observed them, feeling horrible that Winky was still suffering. "I need you two to clean this room and all the bedrooms. If you need help, call for it. I know a little on how the system works and I don't mind at all. If you see Kreacher, get him to help. Tell him it is to restore his Mistress's honor by presenting even the filthy humans with the grandeur of Grimmauld place."

Dobby squealed and went to work right away, forgetting to hug Harry since this was so enjoyable. Winky seemed to snap out of her stupor as she screeched – quietly, mind you – at the utter filth around her. "I's clean dis up right now!" she declared.

Harry stood with a too quiet Jojo, watching as the two elves worked. "These, Jojo, are House Elves. They love cleanliness and to clean and love having the hardest of projects delegated to them. Kind of like setting a kid loose in an amusement park with an all-day pass to every ride."

Jojo finally did something, chuckling at the small elves that made even his former self seem tall. "They're so tiny!"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, my first thought too . . . other than the tennis ball eyes. That was kind of the creep-me-out point."

In twenty minutes, everything was clean, the sheets exchanged from who knows where and the bed cleansed of all things Dark, dirty, or living. All of the Dark items were separated, a few disposed of, and up high where none of the young humans could reach without extreme difficulty. Harry grinned at the satisfied elves before prompting them on. "Can you do Ron's and my room next? Then Ginny and Hermione?"

Winky snapped her fingers and four more elves came to be with pops of air. "You two, Ginny and Mione's room. You, next room over. You, Twin Gingers' room. I's get the living room with Dobby." Like a little army sergeant, Winky had them all hopping to do what she asked. Harry wondered briefly how she knew about the others, but that is like asking an elf how they know to fix something special at certain tables in the Great Hall. They just did. It was their special brand of magic.

"Thank you, Winky, Dobby. This is more than I imagined."

Dobby threw himself on Harry, hugging him tight. "You'z is the bestest master wizard ever!" he sobbed into Harry's knees. Harry sighed and patted the small elf on the head to what suspiciously sounded like giggles from his companion. Winky ended up pulling him away to help finish their new job of cleaning, popping from the room in an instant with Dobby's ear in her long fingers.

Harry shook his head and waited for Jojo to take in the quite beautiful room, the crystal lights and deeply rich blue flecked with what looked like stars making him wonder if the room was enchanted like the Great Hall's ceiling. The floor was a soft, fluffy black that balanced the white of the furniture nicely, the white and gray comforter on the bed a near perfect match. "Here you are, Jojo. Your new room for a while."

Jojo nodded his thanks, his eyes overlooking every thing to see the moon seamlessly slide onto the wall in its ascent. Harry left him, closing the door with a sigh. Towel nearly falling off, he walked down just a short way to his room, nearly jumping from his skin when Moody stepped from the shadows. "What have ya got, boy?"

Harry stared at the ex-Auror hard, his mind working a million miles an hour. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," he blatantly lied with a confused frown. Moody laughed, his dry reed sound grating on Harry's suddenly fraying nerves.

"Don't give me that. There's a boy in that room just there," he pointed with a gnarled finger. "What I wanna know is what you are going to do with him and if it will affect your mind."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Paranoid old bastard. He's from the Looking Glass, if you understand." Moody's real eye went wide. "Yeah, I saw it, no tricks. Tomorrow, if you can spare someone to disguise me well enough, I'll take Jojo with me to get some clothes. He had none and mine are shite. And, Moody . . . Dumbledore can't know any of this. He'd use or _loose_ Jojo and I will not stand for it."

Moody looked at Potter hard. "I think that boy gave you a backbone, Potter. Don't loose it."

Harry shrugged before sliding into his room and slapping on some of his clothes for the night. Grabbing up some extra, he went back to Jojo's room. A knock had a brown eye staring at him curiously. "Want something to sleep in?"

Jojo's face went red as he noticed, after all the shock and wonder, that he truly was naked, no fur or wraps to keep him from view. Harry gave a small smile as he handed through a large shirt. "I know the feeling."

`'.,~*~,.'`

Harry decided morning came too soon, Hermione setting upon the two sleeping males with a vengeance to help clean and do this and do that and blah, blah, blah. A brilliant witch she may be, but a social or even comfortable friend she was not. Bloody book worm.

"Harry? Harry! Have you finished your homework? Oh, you need to right away! School starts in less than a month!"

Harry palmed his face as he trudged down the stairs for breakfast, grabbing toast, bacon, and two glasses of milk. Hermione tried to keep him at her side, grabbing his shirt tails roughly. "Mione, let me the bloody fuck go," he bit out at the girl in acid tones. She was too stunned not to and her fingers uncurled just as quickly as they had snatched. "Thank you."

Climbing the stairs, he knocked on Jojo's door, the small Who-turned-human blinking blearily from the other side of the door. Harry pushed in, setting breakfast on the bedside table as he looked Jojo over. He seemed fine, just not a morning person. Harry could sympathize but after breakfast, they would have to get going. "Come on, sleepy head, breakfast before our little shopping spree. We'll have Moody transfigure your shirt into something more appropriate to wear in public. Going out in just a tee like that would invite people to try something and I might get in trouble for hexing them senseless."

Jojo shook his drowsy head, munching on bacon as it was handed to him along with toast and a large glass of milk. "Where are we going?" he murmured as he plucked at the hem of the overly-large shirt.

"Muggle London. Then Diagon Alley. I'll have to wear a hat or something to be less noticeable, though. Even if I doubt that would work . . ." Harry grimaced as he waved it off. Plotting could wait until _after _breakfast.


	7. Bewitched by a Green Lion

_Harry has become different, more so than ever. _

Marcus Flint growled as he stalked the halls of Hogwarts. He needed a shower and sleep and he was going to get it. Shucking the black robes that draped his large frame, he slid them inside the never-ending bag on his waist viciously. Damn Voldemort and his fucking orgy revels.

As he got closer to the Slytherin quarters, he heard something that was familiar but unidentifiable at the moment. It came from the boy's restroom just feet from the Potions classroom, the sound even louder. It was the sound of retching, he identified, as he opened the door on silent hinges. One of the stalls was closed and a small foot poked out along with the trailing end of robes. The red and gold tie flung into one of the sinks clued him into what house but a lot of the Gryffindor students were fairly small, much smaller than most Slytherins.

When he opened the door, he didn't expect to recognize the dark head over the toilet in dry heaves. The watery eyes of the boy-who-lived gazed back at him sadly before he was violently ill again, chocking on it as he tried to stop vomiting. On impulse Marcus stood over him, holding back his hair as he got sick again and again until there was nothing left to bring back up. Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve to try and clean his face and maybe get the bile taste out of his mouth.

"What was that about, Potter?" Marcus demanded softly . . . for him which translated to near snarling the question in a Snape-esque tone.

Harry was too tired and drained to care that one of his enemies and a Slytherin stood over him in a boy's lavatory. All that he truly cared for was that he was not alone anymore, that there was a human within his small world of pain and disgust. And, hopefully, that the visions had stopped running through his mind like a movie reel.

Marcus was surprised when the small teen latched onto his waist like a drowning man, holding on as tight as he could while he sobbed into the much larger teen's chest. Marcus stood still, his next impulse to crush the little fool pushed down as he stared hard at the boy. At nineteen, Marcus was repeating his seventh year for the third time since he was much better _inside_ the castle than out in the task force. The delicately small fifteen year old holding onto him like a limpet should have been running away from the giant of a teen. Instead, he was near trying to squeeze him in half even if it wasn't working all that well.

"Oh Merlin, it hurts," he moaned into Marcus' chest as his body shook harshly and twitched as if he had been under the Cruciatus. In fact . . . a lot of the symptoms were that of the Cruciatus curse. It was . . . _puzzling_. He lifted the boy's face to his own and saw more of the problematic symptoms. If it were not for the fact that he had been at the revel, he would have thought Potter had been there under Voldemort's wand.

"Potter, were you hit with a Cruciatus?"

Harry shook his head. "N-not directly," he moaned as his teeth chattered. Marcus stared at him. How can you _not_ be _directly_ hit with a Cruciatus? It was not possible. You were either hit or you weren't.

"How is that possible, Potter? Answer me," he bit out.

Harry shook his head even as he threatened to shake apart. This was who Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was afraid of? This child that was so weak and frail? But . . . he showed something Marcus had never seen before. "I-I c-can't tell you. I'm s-sorry."

Marcus growled. "Damn it, Potter! Why _not_?"

Harry blinked large green eyes up at him, his glasses gone for now – probably on the floor – and gave Marcus a soul searing stare. "I c-could die."

The large teen nearly jerked back at that. It wasn't an Oath, Potter would be dead for just mentioning his probable death, but whatever it was would most likely send even the hardiest and most vicious Slytherins running when answered. It just had that kind of feeling to the look. Deciding he couldn't be more of a stupid arse, Marcus swung Potter into his arms and set off for the Hospital wing and hoped a few of his questions could be answered on the way.

"Why were you near Slytherin?"

Harry blinked blearily at the teen. "Detention for a failed potions."

Marcus nodded. That was plausible, even likely, but not the truth. However, since the Gryffindor was able to come up with the lie in his current condition, he let it slide. For now. "How is it possible to not be hit directly with the Cruciatus?"

It he could gain that kind of intelligence, he could probably save his neck at a later date. Divert the curse to someone else and all that. When Harry remained stubbornly silent, Marcus growled. "Potter! I need to know."

"I c-can't! I just can't tell you. Please stop. Please, _please_, don't ask again," Harry pleaded into Marcus' shirt as he hid his face. "I really can't tell you."

Marcus cursed in a vile manner, his arms curling around the teen almost harshly. Harry whimpered but didn't protest. Even when it became hard for him to breathe, alerting Marcus with the soft wheezing of air. He loosened his grip enough that it wouldn't seem like he gave a bloody damn about the boy, he didn't want gratitude. Hell, he didn't even care to be liked.

Adrian Pucey and Blaise Zambini met them on their way, the two looking on with wary surprised looks . . . for a Slytherin. Only their widened eyes gave away their astonishment. Deciding to follow in mutual silence, the pair tagged along like swift silent shadows. No one really heard them, only the soft swish of cloth occasionally and the even softer step of their shoes on the stone floor. Harry was near gone as he hung in a haze that would cause worry in the three if it hadn't been for their inbred dislike of the boy. Still, it was problematic that Potter was almost catatonic. It would not do well to be caught out for something they did not do.

Grabbing the door for them, Adrian waited until the rest had entered before closing the door softly and casting privacy charms to alert the trio to any intruders or late wounded Hogwarts students.

"Madame Promphrey," Blaise called out in a voice like silky thunder. Almost as tall as Marcus, Blaise Zambini was far from finished growing, the tall fifth year shadow dark with small ebony curls for hair. His eyes were as dark as his hair, the glowing black a different shade than Snape and lot less viciously raging. But it was not just these traits that set him apart, it was his toned, broad shoulders and massive legs that brought to mind a runner who lifted weights to balance his body, not to mention his darkly sharp face that rang of Italian decent.

No answer came, the infirmary silent in an unusual way. Apparently the school nurse had been called away. Adrian was checking all the rooms and the office to make sure no one was there just in case as Marcus set Harry on one of the beds and pulled the curtain while Blaise set about diagnosing the smallest of them with his wand. Harry was too exhausted to really battle with them and sat there clutching Marcus' shirt in a desperate grip. Blaise actually let out a silent gasp when the deep scan results printed itself out. He made copies of it for Marcus and Adrian as he went to one of the many cabinets to find a nerve soothing potion and a pain potion.

"Is there anything we should avoid?"

Harry looked up at the blurry figure and nodded. "Dreamless Sleep."

"Any reason why?" Adrian asked in a soft voice that had grabbed many a girl and tugged them in. Harry tilted his head to look at him with a mild frown of confusion.

"Just how many of you are there?" he mused in confusion. "And I don't take it because I'll be stuck in . . . well, unpleasant stuff." He yawned as he suddenly felt bone deep weariness sweep over him in a wave. He laid with his head on Marcus' chest with a sleepy pout. "Merlin, I'm tired . . ."

"Not surprising," murmured Blaise as he finished getting a few more potions to administer to Potter. Stalking back to the small group, he slipped around the curtain and handed Harry the first of several potions. The small teen blinked and sniffed each potion before sucking them down, only one set to the side. It was a mild sedative potion but when coupled with a pain potion, it made one so drowsy as to be unable to wake easily. Harry couldn't have something like that happen.

"Why not that one, Potter?" Adrian grunted. It almost sounded like he was angry but Harry was able to hear certain inflections and knew for a fact that he wasn't.

He yawned before answering. "Th-that one is a mild sleep sedative and it's hard to wake up." He scrubbed his eyes with a sleepy yawning squeak. Marcus shifted uncomfortably as the small teen all but cuddled into his chest. Blaise and Adrian smirked at the large boy as he held Harry to his chest so the boy wouldn't fall.

"Are you seriously going to sleep with three Slytherins and near sworn enemies in the room."

Harry flapped a hand at them. "I hurt too much to care. And," he paused to yawn once again, "if you wanted to hurt me you wouldn't have helped me."

Adrian smirked at the Slytherin logic coming from the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Blaise snorted but allowed that Potter actually knew what he was talking about. Marcus just tried to dislodge those tiny fingers without much success. Harry gurgled a soft laugh as he pried his hands off, the nerves still slightly twitching and making it hard to force any of his muscles to move. Blaise noticed with a small frown.

Harry's breathing evened out softly and alerting the three Slytherin teens to the now venerable Gryffindor. Blaise waited until Marcus had laid the boy down carefully as if handling glass before bringing the other two over. His face was frozen and determined. Adrian and Marcus shared a look of slight confusion and mild worry.

"Yeah, what'cha want?" Marcus snarled almost kindly. Actually, Adrian was sure that he had never heard or seen Marcus do anything other than snarl, unless it was silently glower at the object of his frustration.

"Yeah, Blaise. What's up?" He leaned his hip on one of the beds as he looked at the list Blaise suddenly thrust into his face. With a shrug he read it, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping to his knees in pure astonishment. "What the fuck is this, Blaise?"

Marcus growled as he scanned the list, some of the things on there done to him and several other pure blood wizard children to make them stronger, faster, _scarier_. "Zambini . . . answers. Now!"

The dark Slytherin looked at the tiny Potter boy, the list, and then his House mates. "This is his list of injuries since he was born. I did a Full-History scan."

Adrian whistled in shock. "Well bloody damn."

Marcus seemed to second him as the giant teen ground his teeth. It was like looking at one of their Full-History scans . . . only much worse. They had never been starved to such an extent, or ruthlessly beaten to the point of death more times than they had fingers _before_ turning seven. Not to mention the other things that seemed to be piling up from age eleven to fifteen. It was as if Potter had been through a Hell Boot Camp.

"Why would Dumbledore do this to his Golden Boy?" snapped Adrian in a very oddly protective way.

Blaise shrugged. "I doubt the old fool actually knows of the extensive abuse with his second chance motto. He looks on with rose colored glasses."

Marcus was too furious to open his mouth but something struck him. It was as if Potter was at every revel held since the Dark Lord had returned, the Cruciatus the main sufferance. Since that curse was a favorite of Voldemort, it would be understandable . . . if he had _been there_. There were several other discrepancies, mostly in second and third year, that didn't quite add up. It was as if the kid had been in a war during the school years and no one knew about it.

Adrian shared a look with his House mates. "This is disgusting, even to me. I thought he lived with muggles and not pure blood extremists."

Blaise blinked at him slowly. Adrian sighed and folded the list up before shoving it in his pocket. Tonight had been a long night, the need for a shower almost over-powering after the revel. Marcus seemed to second him. It was as the three were leaving that the screaming began. Blaise had his wand out and pointed before his mind caught up with his body. Marcus and Adrian were set in solid stances more suited for hand-to-hand combat. It was a second before they realized it was Potter who was screaming in such agony.

When they moved the curtains back, it was as if Potter was suffering under the Cruciatus and his scar was a vivid red that gave way to a small stream of blood running back into his hair. Marcus cursed as he held Harry down, Adrian helping Blaise find pain potions as their hearts tried to beat out of their chests. They had seen torture before, done it on occasion, but never had it affected them so much.

"Potter? POTTER! Wake up! Get your lazy ARSE UP!" Marcus bit out into his ear. Harry seemed to hear him and struggled to wake up, the screaming tapering off into soft whines and pained whimpers.

"_NOOOoooo_! No more! Please . . . _please_, I don't want to see anymore," the tiny teen sobbed out as he clung once again to Marcus. Blaise had the vial of pain potion ready to tip into the boy's mouth but hesitated.

"What do you see, Potter?" he asked in a whiskey tone meant to sooth.

The boy sniffled and rubbed his face in Marcus' chest like a kitten would. "Death . . . pain . . . torture. V-Voldemort taking his wand to a small child," he whispered heart-brokenly. The three grimaced. They hadn't been there for that part of the revel since it had started so early, but were not going to complain about missing the torture and subsequent rape of a seven year old girl. "Her screams . . . and then, his own f-followers tortured for killing her too q-quick. The curse . . . it _burns_ and it _hurts_ so much. He was laughing as he forced them to rape each other and the muggle f-family."

Tears streamed down a pale face from behind closed eyes. It was as if Harry was radiating with pain, a deep emotional and mental pain. Adrian and Blaise shared a look as Marcus gave a grunting sigh. But one thing kept bugging them. How did Potter _know_?

"How do you know this? How do you see it?" Blaise again murmured in a thick soothing tone. Potter jerked and cried as he held his defining scar with one hand. He didn't answer but the Slytherins were wide eyed and frozen in shock. Did Potter of all people have a _connection_ to the Dark Lord because of a scar? If he did . . . the Slytherins shared a look with each other, their dark eyes confirming to each other. This was not a simple rescue for the sake of it anymore. This was a whole other ball game.

Blaise stepped forward, pushing the pain potion into Potter's mouth and stroking his throat to force him to swallow. When the potion started working, Potter sighed sleepily and snuggled into his human teddy bear as he slept. Adrian grinned widely to show how badly he wanted to start laughing at seeing Marcus Flint, nineteen year old, third time through seventh year, and all around bastard of Slytherin being loved on by an unconscious Harry Potter. Blaise hmmmed at the scene before taking a quick picture – without the flash for he had no death wish – and then moving off back down the infirmary. Adrian followed at a docile pace with a much smaller grin now as they waited for Marcus to pry himself loose. The largest of the three met them moments later a little disheveled and scowling mutinously.

Adrian took down his wards with a flick and the three vanished into the shadows of the school as they headed back to their dorms.


	8. Green Beetle's Juice

**Okay, I've been fussed on (Rightly so) about putting whether or not what the crossover is. So, this is HP/Beetle Juice . . . just no slashy between Harry and BJ. That would be gross. There IS slash, though. **

Chapter one is Invader Zim/HP.

Chapter two is Dragon Ball Z/HP.

Chapter three is YGO/HP.

Chapter four is HP/Pet Shop of Horrors/Page Master.

Chapter five is Shoulin Showdown - not a crossover and yes, I switched some elements. It makes more sense to me this way.

Chapter six is HP/Horton Hears a Who. (Don't ask, please.)

Chapter seven is Harry Potter - not a crossover.

**But anyway, in CHAPTER 11, I will be posting which ever one won and there is a Poll on my Author's Page to look up. Listing them in reviews is making me break my brain.**

* * *

Chapter One:

* * *

_Dear Margaret,_

_I shall name you Margaret since Diary is too weird sounding to me. So, Margaret, guess what? I'm eleven today! Bertha, Diary from age nine, and Diana, Diary from age ten, are so full now! I guess I write in them too much. But, anyway, I got this weird letter by _owl_, of all things instead of in the Post like a normal person. They're inviting me to a "magic" school. Da thinks they're off their rocker. Mum just keeps "hmmm"-ing and giving me that pondering look. Tuny doesn't look happy about the extra attention. _

_Lils

* * *

_

_Dear Anita, _

_As the three before you, I shall name you. I'm twelve today! As explained in Margaret, I started a strange school . . . A MAGIC school! I adore it but there is this one gastly boy, so rude and mean. Sevvy is being picked on for being a Slytherin. It really is unfair. Tuny isn't happy for me. Calls me a freak. I would lash out, but sometimes I think I am. Where will I fit in after all of this? How will I tell my non-magic friends (the people at school call them muggles but that sounds gross) that I go to a boarding school because I'm "special" or something? They'll think I'm stupid or something. _

_Lils

* * *

_

_Dear Samantha, _

_Thirteen! I am officially a TEEN! YES! FINALLY! Sevvy gave me a strange book, all covered in gold letters and pictures with a green leather binding (I haven't a clue what that is, but that's what mum called it) and yellowing pages. Mum says that is from old age. I kept what I wanted to say behind my teeth since my first thought wasn't very nice. I think I have a brain-to-mouth filter now. Tuny caved and gave me a pendant. It's so pretty and a real crystal. I'll have it enchanted when Sevvy and I get back to school. _

_Lily

* * *

_

_Dear Pembrooke, _

_Mum gave me this old singing box. She called it a Jack-In-The-Box. You crank the handle and something is supposed to pop out. It's magic, she said, and one of her dearest friends in stuck inside. She told me to hold on to it, maybe I could be the one to break the spell. I'm not so sure. Tuny gave me crystal earrings. She had this sad, worried look. Like mum does when we're sick or hurt. Sevvy gave me a Potion's Master's bracelet. It holds potions in each bead and there are fourty-eight of them. It should come in handy, don't you think? _

_Lily

* * *

_

_Dear Petunia, _

_Yes, I named you after my sister. She's grown distant recently, and it's pretty much my fault, really. I'm strange to her, a freak of nature. I'm sorry for that, but I will not change what I have become for anyone. Sevvy is worried for me, though. He's given me a lot of different potions, a lot for healing or protection. Of course, that could be because he met BJ. Who is currently _grounded_ until further notice! I cannot believe he talked Peeves into doing that!_

_Lily

* * *

_

_Dear Arcadia, _

_There is war. Magic is brewing in horrid ways. Evil has born itself in darkness and light. The Leader of our side is loosing himself to the evil of the Ever-Light. Our opponents have evil strangling the truth of darkness. The balance is corrupted. I had hoped to find someone with balance, but this foolish war is stripping the natural magic. BJ is loosing hope of being free. His soul is barely within the confines of his body anymore. Mum said that it has gotten so much worse since she was a child. Sevvy thinks he might have found a way to release BJ to his eternal rest since exorcism will not work. On a happier note, I found a magical seed packet in my room. I wonder where it came from. _

_Lilith

* * *

_

_Dear Sonia, _

_Did you know that, when you get to know someone, they are actually half way nice? James has almost redeemed himself. I am saddened though. Sevvy stopped being my friend because he is trying to protect me. I understand, really. I do. So, I have sent him a present without anything to say it is from me, not even magic. He's already approached me about it, but he can't prove anything. Tuny gave me a hug and a rose bush. It's an odd rose bush. I told Tuny thank you and it was as if the world was right. The light inside me was never balanced without the darkness of Tuny. We are opposites of the same thing. I told her so. She agrees. Unfortunately, we aren't enough to free BJ. There has to a balance inside a person to free him. We'll figure it out. _

_Lilith Evans

* * *

_

_Dear Julie, _

_The war has gotten worse. BJ is worried for us. He cannot do much inside his box, but I have taken to leaving the lid open. Soon, though, I will have to send him with some of my things to Tuny. Her husband is not a kind man, very brutal, but a normal man who gives her what she needs to survive inside her darkness. I have a foreboding of the future and of our Light Leader. With my stomach round in child bearing, I feel as if my magic has doubled, if not tripled. My love James has had to put runes on me to keep Dumbledore from noticing. Our child will be born so _strong_ and if I am reading his signature right, he is a perfect blend. I have hope for BJ. However, if I do not live long enough, my son will have these journals to help him. Tuny might have to wait until my unborn Harper James Seveth Potter is older. James, however, calls him Harry even now though he is horrified that I called him Seveth after Sevvy. Oh! And Tuny is expecting too! Her first child . . . it makes me giddy to think our sons might grow up together. _

_Lilith Evans-Potter

* * *

_

_Dear Delilah, _

_This will be my last Diary. My death is so very close and when I go, I will leave my son. The protections are set up already and not even Dumbledore can break them. All of my possessions, Delilah included, are being sent to Tuny as soon as I finish this entry in an all but empty Diary. BJ is already packed along with the spells and books to set him free. I hope Harper has a chance of freeing my close friend. James approves of BJ, would you believe it? But . . . my child, my legacy, I am sorry that I leave you so alone. I hope that the picture album your father and I have set up helps you understand how _much_ we love you. I have a feeling Dumbledore will not honor our wishes to aid you and will send you to Vernon Dursley and his dubious protection. Oh, he will say it is to Tuny you go, my angel, but I know better. Petunia is a strong woman, firm, but Vernon has a habit of crushing bits of her with his oppressive light. Do not hate her for needing so much light. She is so dark and I am – or may hap was – so light and we are all to each other. Be wary, my balance, that you are sure of your life mates for you to be complete, you need light and dark. And remember this: Dark is not evil and light is not good. _

_Love your mother, _

_Lilith Renee Ann Evans-Potter_

* * *

Harry stared blurry-eyed at the journals – he refused to call them Diaries – from his mum. Petunia sat beside him, a mentioned Jack-in-the-Box in her hands. "Why now? Why not sooner?"

Petunia gave a shuddering breath, her eyes just as wet as his. "Because, you needed to be old enough to understand why I acted as I did. Vernon is a harsh, rude, mean man. But . . ."

"He is light to your darkness," Harry finished, nodding solemnly. "And I am _balanced_?"

Petunia hesitated. "Not anymore," she whispered, her hand rising to gently brush his scarred forehead. "That man, Voldemort, he has placed inside you an evil darkness. It brushes against mine, tainting my darkness since your light reflects the darkness back to itself. I don't know what happened, but it is _there_ and disgusting."

Harry shivered. "Is there anything I can do to remove it?" Petunia nodded distinctly, decisive for once. "What?"

"Find your mates, bond to them. They can be male or female, older or younger. Our balance isn't based on anything sexual, but spiritual so that even if your mate is quite young, it means little to the bond." She handed over the small crank box. "This is BJ. From what I heard, he is like Peeves from Hogwarts only so much worse. Once the box is open, he can come and go as he pleases unless you say the spell Beeltejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice. He can and will prevent you from saying it if he can, but he is the best bet for you to find your true mates. He's _special_ like that."

The way she said "special" rose the hackles on his neck. "How special is BJ?"

Petunia smiled softly. "Very. Now, hurry. We must get you out of here. Dudley is going with you. The two of you are on a "camping trip" okay? Diagon Alley will be too known, though, so I hope you don't mind going to France for a week or so. Their alley is called Marché D'or, Golden Market. Go there and get something for yourself."

"What about Vernon?" the teen wondered aloud. Petunia pursed her lips. "He won't be back for another two days. I think that should be long enough for me to find someone . . ." He nodded, glasses slipping down his nose. Petunia scowled at the sight. "And, please, get those glasses fixed or heal your eyes! It can't be that bloody difficult.


	9. A King's Prince

A Harry/Labyrinth crossover

**REMEMBER TO USE THE POLL IN MY PROFILE/AUTHOR'S PAGE! I DO NOT WANT TO LOOSE THE AMOUNT OF VOTING FOR EACH. YOU CAN PICK UP TO 3 DIFFERENT STORIES. THE ONE WITH THE MOST VOTES WILL BE FIRST, THEN I WILL DO THE SECOND ONE, AND SO ON AND SO FORTH. **

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!~

He wasn't sure how he got here, wherever this was, or why he couldn't just pop out like he wished to, but Harry rolled his eyes and looked to the oddly colored sky outside the window. "Fate? I loathe you right now."

The faint feeling of someone laughing did not improve his mood. "Bloody gods having a field day with my life. I swear, if I could, I'd strangle the whole lot! Thirteen and already too used to it," he grouched as he wandered around what appeared to be an abandoned castle, nary a sound of steps nor life. As suddenly as it came, a strange sound left to echo about, fraying taunt nerves. "Merlin, that did not sound good."

He swept his wand out, flicking it as he whispered a silence spell on his feet and clothes. Let's just hope he would be excused for using magic, especially since he sincerely doubted that any other wizard would find him here. Slipping his way sensuously down the halls to where he figured the sound originated, he swallowed a gasp. Goblins! And there with them he could spot Griphook as he counted out gold galleons and doubloons into tall stacks. Merlin! Where was he this time! Taking a deep breath to gather his Gryffindor courage, he stepped into the room.

"Um, excuse me? Mr. Griphook?"

The room stopped, many faces turning to him, their eyes widening. Harry gulped but squared his shoulders. "Could you or someone tell me where I seem to have gotten to _this _time?"

Griphook stood quickly, his face darkening. "Why _are_ you here, Mr. Potter?"

"Haven't a clue," he replied with a shrug. "I blinked and _poof_ I'm here. If I wasn't sure the Dursleys would rather be terminally ill than use magic, I would say they wished me here. We haven't been able to get along with me having a criminal godfather and all."

Griphook waved on what appeared to be an underling, staring at Harry in a less than pleasantly curious way. "I was led to believe your relatives took care of you."

Harry snorted. "Yes, well, that's a lie. I am not supposed to be as small as a firsty at almost fourteen."

The sound of heavy boots in a slow waltzing step brought Harry's attention to the open arch on the far side of the room. His breath caught at the sight of what appeared to be a human until the male being smiled, showcasing abnormally sharp teeth. The slightly glowing eyes might have had something to do with it, too. "Oh Merlin, what can of worms have I landed in?"

The _man_ laughed. "Why a wee wizard! I have not had a wizard in centuries," he mused with a hand on his chin. Harry shivered and stepped back into the wall, this being making him wary all of a sudden as his instincts rose inside his chest, his magic unknowingly to him flaring like a living, breathing beast. "A strong one at that."

It was whispered, but the hall heard it. Harry, though, was trying to not drown in what should have been his protection, feeling it warm him from the inside, stealing his breath and causing his heart to stutter.

"OUT!" roared the man, his voice like silken thunder. "_Out!_ Hurry, my fools."

Harry barely heard as he stumbled to the ground, scraping his hands along the floor. Tears fell from his eyes to splotch the floor as he arched his back, screaming in pain. His glasses clattered uselessly away from him, his vision blurring even more. The gentle hand on his back hurt . . . hurt so much . . . _pain, oh Merlin, pain_, and hurt and, _oh gods_, a sight of horror within his mind. _Please, please, let it end!_

"Sleep, child of man! Sleep!" commanded the man, his voice like black silk, soft, beautiful, deadly as it strangled you. So, he slipped away in to the darkness. Not that he had a choice anyway . . .

Jareth stared at the young man at his feet, his concern for the mortal absolute. Never had the Underland affected another being in such a manner! This land, while _Wilde_, was benevolent. It never took upon itself to cause another pain. It was as if a fay childe lay at his feet, their power trying to awaken . . .

"Daftjaw! Rawnak! Come to me, my Alchemists!"

Two stately goblins appeared in the room, their velvet robes announcing their station and level of expertise. "My Lord," the two chorused in soft gravelly voices as they bowed to their king. The man waved them upright.

"Rise, my Alchemists. I have a task for you." He picked up the child, lifting the thin and delicate form easily, mild surprise coloring his face. "Please take but a drop of blood. I have need to know of his heritage and quickly."

One produced a vial filled nearly to the top with a clear liquid, uncorking it deftly, while the other unwrapped a small bronze athame, the runes along the blade glowing as he whispered softly to the metal. The athame slit the mortal's finger, a bead of blood welling up and spilling down to the curve where finger met palm. Licking his finger, the one holding the vial gathered the drop, wiping the saliva coated appendage over the thin line. It vanished, the flesh healing with only a tiny curl of bronze goblin magic. With a deep bow, the two vanished soundlessly, only a thin puff of smoke rising from where they once stood.

With nothing else to do, Jareth walked off further into his castle. It was time to set the child in to bed.

_Magic, Goblins, and Wizards_

Morning came, and with it his Alchemists, their craggy faces worried and drawn. Jareth felt that this was something he was not going to like. "Speak, my Alchemists."

"My Lord, Daftjaw speaking," he announced with a bow, though shallow and worried it was. "There is troubling news, much troubling news."

Jareth raised a brow. He had more or less figured that out. Still, he humored his worn out and over stressed goblins. "Proceed, Daftjaw."

"It . . . it seems there is too much body and _soul _damage to even make an accurate tree line, my liege. We have no more knowledge today than we did yesterday about his true heritage."

The other goblin sighed and gave an uncharacteristic display of weariness as he rubbed his face. "Rawnak speaking, my Lord. His magic is completely stressed to the limit. While the human child may seem ten or eleven years of age, he is thirteen, almost fourteen. His magic has spent almost all of his young life trying to keep him alive and correct what we suspect to be malnutrition and severe neglect." Rawnak sighed. "It will take up to a month with a goblin healer to even bring him close to his natural order! A month! Of _our_ time!"

Jareth didn't move for several seconds, his face void of emotion as his silence drew on. Finally, he growled, a low and throaty sound that declared loud and clear his displeasure and that there _would_ be retribution when he got his hands on the ones responsible.

"My . . . my Lord, there is one among us, one the boy called by name," murmured Daftjaw softly as his king focused on him. When he was given the go ahead, he proceeded to elaborate. "It seems that the young mortal knew Griphook from sight. I believe it is because the child has been directed by our esteemed Banker some time in the past."

Their king nodded as he listened. His mind was trying to come up with reasons as to why a blood test would not reveal what it should, what he was to do for the child, and how was he going to heal the boy without taking him out of his world for too long. _How_ could he heal the child in the span of a human day? Should he ask the Spell Masters or the Crafting Masters? Or a _Runes _Master! That could work . . .

"Milord? Milord? Milord Jareth!"

Jareth jerked up, his eyes seeking the source of the voice. One of the lowly grunt goblins stood behind his Alchemists, the boy behind him.

"Yes, yes, come in. Breakfast should soon be served," he mumbled distractedly. Turning to his Alchemists, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Whatever was going on with the boy, it would take time and resources, neither of which he currently had much of to spend. This would take much thought . . .


	10. Dragon Armies or Not

A/N: So this is "Dragon Armies or Not" and it is from the _How To Train Your Dragon_ movie. So, no, it's not Harry Potter. -_- Sorry.

**STILL! If you want to pick a story, remember to VOTE on my POLL which is on my PROFILE.**

**Let me KNOW! *cries* TT_TT**

Warnings: Mature content in a vague manner, but you'll know exactly what's going on. Mild cursing. Time jumped up.

Disclaimer: Who the hell would believe you?  


* * *

Chapters 1 and 2: part 1

* * *

Hiccup wiped his face, checked himself over in the mirror like pond, and took a breath before letting it out slowly if a little jerkily. Astrid had just officially fucked him over. Which, in truth, shredded every dream he had started making three years ago. And he had caught her doing something so damned disgusting . . .

Her head had been in Snotlout's lap, slurping and moaning as if she was enjoying it as much as the grunting man above had obviously been. Glad for once that his slight stature hid him effectively, he slipped away before either could find him, slinking through the shadows in mimicry of Toothless at his stealthiest. Shaking his head, he dipped his face into the water, wetting the whole of his head, shedding water like a dog as he came back up. The crunch on gravel behind him had his head snapping up, knife hidden in the palm of his hand. He relaxed and sheathed the blade before the two could see. "Tuffnut, Ruffnut, what do they need?"

The twin blonds looked him over seriously, their eyes seeking any injury on their unnamed leader. Ruffnut rolled her eyes. "Apparently, a large village further in the mainland-"

"It is a city, Ruff," Hiccup murmured as he waited for her to continue.

"City. Fine, whatever. They want to be _diplomatic_," the sneer was withering in that kind of tone, he mused, "and try and have dragons for themselves."

Hiccup grimaced and stood, wobbling momentarily. He ran a hand through his wet hair, the strands going wilder than usual. "Well . . . shite." Toothless was not going to be thrilled, that was for sure. Not human, no, but a bloody intelligent dragon with a newly laid clutch. "Toothless will not leave until the newest clutch is hatched."

On _her_ second clutch, there were now seven Night Fury dragons roaming about, not including Toothless. Unfortunately for everyone else, Toothless and her cubs were less than inclined to like anyone other than Hiccup, tolerating everyone else to a degree. And, believe this if you will, there had been more attempts to try and _tame_ the young dragons than the number of all dragons species combined. Hiccup made sure he was far away, usually flying, when the attempts were made so that he could not be persecuted for trying to keep the Night Fury breed to himself. What the others didn't understand was that to ride a Fury, one had to befriend it, love it as one of their own. You _**never**__ owned_ a Night Fury. That was what separated them from the other breeds.

Tuffnut sighed. "Which will take at least another month. The Elders will not be happy."

Hiccup rolled his eyes. "I could care less at this point," he growled as he paced brokenly. The youngest of this generation and he was already with a missing limb. Alive? Yes. Whole? Much less now. "I will have to make sure no one steals the eggs. If that happens . . . Toothless is far less forgiving than I on a matter so close to her." What was unsaid was that only _Hiccup_, foolish, tiny, barely armed Hiccup, had ever brought down a Night Fury. Before then, there hadn't even been pictures and only wild speculation on the whole. "If she doesn't take retribution, the older cubs will."

The Thorston twins shivered in remembrance of that. A neighboring tribe had tried to barter for the Night Fury eggs. When that had not happened, seven stole in to take the eggs. The only reason the men and women had survived was because Hiccup had stopped Toothless from ripping them apart and dumping their corpses into the sea. Let us just say that Toothless cowed even the largest of dragon breeds when in a homicidal rage. "Yeah, no. Not even going there," Tuffnut grunted out, his face pasty and his brow sweating as events played themselves out in his mind again and again. One would never forget screams like that. "Not even with a ten foot pole."

Ruffnut nodded in agreement while watching their leader stutter to a stop. Hiccup chewed his lip, eyes focusing on nothing as he thought deeply. Suddenly, as if he had never stopped moving, the smaller red haired man was stalking passed, his voice a murky whisper to himself as he climbed the steep face of the small cliff, his prosthetic slipping only once to show his familiarity of his now artificial leg and foot. Ruffnut and Tuffnut shrugged and followed him quickly, flanking him as he made his way to their village without even acknowledging those that greeted him. Still, there were those that resented him and his peaceful ways. It would not do to _invite_ their foul play with inattention.

Slinging the door to his home open, the twins followed him in, watching as he grabbed beautiful, finely patterned parchment that probably cost more than it should and an auto-inking quill with a full ink sack. He sat and wrote . . . and wrote . . . and _wrote_ until the Thorstons were nearly asleep on their feet and the ink sack almost empty. With a contented sigh, Hiccup leaned back and looked over the seven page letter to the Lords of Hammer City. It was all he could do to slow down the battle ensuing, but it was _something_ at least. Folding it delicately, reverently even, he slipped the pages inside a lovely, rich purple suede sack made of deer hide afore tying it closed with a thin strip of fixed silk.

"Now, how to get this to the City Council?"

* * *

It was a week before the message met its destination. There was a small uproar, from what the dragon messenger said, but it was not lost or even bad. Hiccup sat carefully within the nest Toothless had made two years previous for her first clutch, cuddling with the half grown cubs and checking the eggs for damage. This was by far a larger clutch, twelve eggs to the first seven, and Hiccup was worried about the strain that not only Toothless endured, but the unhatched dragons as well. Luckily, the nestlings would be able to fly just hours after hatching, their wing membranes dried and stronger than should be possible for a new born. Even the other dragon cubs had to wait a week to take to the air. The small red head figured it was because the breed was close to two times smaller than all other breeds but one and this was a survival issue.

"Hey, Hiccup!" Astrid called only to be pinned by two of the cubs, their growls making it a point that they were not playing. Hiccup grimaced. Astrid. Damnation. "Eh, hey! Call off your pets!"

He palmed his face, peeking through his fingers. "They're not pets, Astrid. They're my dragon's cubs and answer only to her."

The two were quite unaware the the Thorston twins were settling over the ridge of the made cave mouth and could hear them. Picking up an intuition unheard of for them, the twins kept hidden, their ears open. The screech of Astrid had them both twitching.

"The little bastard bit me!" Astrid snarled as she threw a cub, the small body hitting the stones around the cave entrance. Its pitiful squeak was like a summoning to Toothless, the mature Night Fury bearing down on the lone blond woman from the tree she had been climbing. Hiccup cursed as he stood between the woman and his best friend Toothless.

"Come on, Toothless. Don't hurt her, she's just a bit stupid," he crooned, his eyes warm as he walked to his dragon companion. Astrid gave another screech, her voice pitched high.

"_WHAT_? I am not stupid, Hiccup!" she denied. Hiccup glared at her over his shoulder without a word. However, his look clearly stated that he begged to differ. "Fuck, I am not stupid! That little wretch _bit_ me!"

The young man turned to her fully, his eyes glaring. "This is not the _first time_ this has happened, Astrid. Actually, I have actively told you not to come into the nest. None of the Night Fury like you, you _know_ this already."

"So, what, you let a little lizard rule you?" she snarled.

His eyes sizzled, the green flashing in a fashion similar to Toothless's before a kill. "Well, at least I can be assured of her commitment to me, now can I not? I mean, I will not find her face to crotch with Snotlout, will I? No, she will be faithful to me and me alone as long as I respect her. You, however, have been proven a liar and a backstabbing bitch quite recently. I had respected you, gave you whatever you had wanted, and this is my repayment. Well, I must say, it is a stiff and unfair deal. So, if you will excuse us, I will get back to helping my best friend tend to her nest."

He turned from the gaping blond, striding back into the cave with the small Night Fury calling to him like pups, their green eyes near glowing in the dim lighting. He was far from prepared for Astrid to come at him, in full view of Toothless and her brood, and strike him down. Hiccup barely had time to scream out a "No!" to Toothless before the great beast took Astrid's arm in her mouth and bit down until there was a crunch. She released the limp appendage, her chirping concerned as she looked over her human cub, licking him free of the blood from his temple. He gave a strained smile as he tried to hide the handle of the knife stuck in his side, missing organs and vital points, but causing significant amounts of pain all the same. The sound of scrambling from outside the cave had him twitching in nervousness only to hiss as his wound was aggravated. The last people he expected to see were the twins.

"Hiccup, are you okay?" Tuffnut called as he slowly approached, eying Toothless warily. Ruffnut was dragging Astrid from the entrance and as far away as she feasibly could, hoping the dragon wouldn't try to finish what she started. Hiccup groaned in response, holding his side as his head started swimming.

"F-fine," he choked out as she forced himself to stand, unsteady and wavering. Tuffnut scrambled to his side, catching him before he fell and a scream burst from Hiccup's lips. Tuffnut's eyes widened as he palmed the handle of the dagger gingerly, then narrowed in fury.

"This, Hiccup, is not _fine_. This is injured and in need," the taller boy growled. "We'll have to take it out-"

"No!" Hiccup protested, his voice breathy and pained. "No, it stays for now. This way I don't bleed out, aye?" The small red head clung to the arms around his waist. "There wasn't anything hit so I'll live until the village Healer looks at it properly." He grinned in a strained, sickly way, grasping tightly to Tuffnut. "Trust me, okay?"

Tuffnut sighed as he let it slide, for now, and pulled Hiccup closer to his side, holding the dagger tightly to the smaller man's wound. There was only a slight hiss from Hiccup to show how painful it was, but not much else. The two waddled up to the mouth of the cave, Ruffnut there with Astrid over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her face showed surprise until the knife handle caught the light and she gasped, understanding shining along with a vengeful, thunderous mood the likes of which scared man and dragon alike.

"When she wakes up, I'm going to fuckin' punch her."

The deadly calm of suppressed righteous fury lacing her voice was terrifying and yet comforting to Hiccup. He had their support and for that he was grateful. It was always better to have more than your self on your side. He gave the taller woman a soft smile slightly tinged in pain. "Please, wait until the village. I would not want to leave you in a fight with someone willing to go this far," he gestured at his side, "and for you to get hurt."

Tuffnut gave a tiny, sincere lift of his lips that only Ruffnut caught. She gave one of her own, slinging Astrid higher on her shoulder with a grunt. The sight of the village was welcome, Hiccup gasping as he tried to remain upright and not stumbling. Tuffnut gathered him up, lifting him in a bridal carry to his weak protests. Ruffnut chuckled at the bickering, tightening her hold on the smaller woman over her shoulder as she stirred. The two Thorstons stepped up their speed, striding more quickly passed the outer edges of the first huts and ignoring the wild-eyed stares they received. It could have been the Tuffnut was covered in blood not his own and holding Hiccup so tenderly or that Ruffnut was lugging around Astrid with an obviously broken arm with the strange angle it flopped uselessly at across the walking woman's back or even that they were near running in their urgency, but whatever is was, they had better not say anything or piss the Thorston twins off. The life expectancy of the perpetrators would be in potentially hazardous situations.

* * *

"Good heavens!"

Ol' Tinyshot stared at the mess of the Thorston brother as he handed off a _finally_ exhausted and dozing Hiccup, her eyes tracing the taller man for injury. He held his hands out to show that it wasn't _him_ in need this time. "It's all Hiccup's."

"Don't dither, boy, get me hot water and some clean rags! Hurry now," Tinyshot bellowed. Sweeping the graying brown braid over her shoulder with a flick, she grabbed up sheers, cutting away the sullied tunic and vest, a mild glare adorning her ancient face. Her face became down right furious at what she saw. "Either this crazy boy was playing with Astrid's dagger, or that girl gave in to that temper of hers."

Ruffnut snorted as she pushed passed the furs hanging like a door across the small room entrance. She flung a groaning Astrid from her shoulder to land with a "umph" on the bare dirt floor. She wiped her hands clean on her tunic, a sneer curling her lip. "Stupid bitch," she murmured viciously. With a sigh, she turned to the leather-skinned woman, her eyes tracing the years of laugh and frown lines marring the face of the once beautiful and most sought after maiden in Tinyshot's day.

"Nona Tiny, how's he doin'?"

Nona Tiny wrinkled her nose as she examined the stab around the knife. "Not all that horrible, considering. Though he lost a bit of blood, the blade didn't hit anything vital, thank Thor and Odin. Some stitching and a bit of rest will do him good." She grabbed out thread and a needle. "Get some whiskey to soak the thread in and heat the needle. No need to be spreadin' infection."

Ruffnut rushed about, clipping off a long strand of the thick black thread and looping it into a clean bowl. Which a wrench of her wrist, she had a foul smelling bottle of whiskey opened, her nose wrinkling at the smell as she poured it slowly. Corking it back, she took a small curved needle with pliers and held it over the hot coals, the metal quickly taking on a red hue that had her lifting it away. Tuffnut stumbled in, nearly running over Ruffnut, gasping for breath as he held tightly to a lidded pot of hot water and white clean rags. He wasn't quite so blood encrusted either. In fact, he was quite soaking wet!

"Boy! No dripping in my work area! Out and change, right now!"

Tuffnut scrambled out the door, Ruffnut snorting in amusement. Nona Tiny was a very short woman, barely reaching her breast area, but a woman all obeyed. No one messed with Nona Tiny and just walked away. As the village Healer, the small woman could make or break the idiot that ticked her off. Those were some of the scariest stories, even more terrifying than fighting dragons, small gods, or pregnant wives left alone for far too long.

Nona Tiny took the pliers and needle from Ruff, sloshing hot water as she dipped the hot metal in. Steam rose in a small cloud that had barely rose before Tiny was grabbing the sanitized needle off the pliers, stringing the thread through with a distinct smell of hard liquor, and setting up at Hiccup's side.

"Get another bowl and pour some water in it with witch hazel from that bundle," she pointed at some herbs to the side of the cottage. "Let it steep thirty seconds and bring it here."

From there, the small cottage-hut-nursing hall was filled with the scent of strong herbs, soft whimpers, and mild scolding followed by flying debris or a solid smack to the head. The few people that came through with less than life-threatening ailments turned around in the door. It could have been for many reasons, one being that she was already busy with something else. Ruff and Tuff thought it was because she was cursing the air blue. Hell, even _they _learned a whole new string of profanity that would cause many a man or woman to blush. Tuff was a little red around the ears and Ruff was suffering a brain hemorrhage trying to block the woman out, unsuccessfully as it were.

"Done!" Nona Tiny growled before turning to the still form of Astrid. "Now, you two take this poor boy somewhere not his house until I talk to his pa. Leave the blond wench."

Ruffnut and Tuffnut nodded in tandem, Tuff grabbing up Hiccup easily once again and trooping out the door as Ruff held the flap of fur out of the way, and bolted like hell hounds were on their heels.

* * *

It took three days before Hiccup was back on his feet. Astrid was seen much more quickly than that, but she had been fleeing the healer's house, her arm splinted and cased in strips of stiff linen. Nona Tiny had followed her out with a cane switch in hand as she swung it about. That was as good as any reason to be up and about.

"Hiccup, are you sure you're okay?"

The small copper haired man rolled his eyes and tightened the bandages around his waist. If anyone had told him four days ago that Ruffnut and Tuffnut were motherhens, he would have laughed himself sick. Now he was groaning in frustration. "If you – _either of you –_ ask me that again, I will _hurt_ you two. Possibly with Toothless's help. Now, I am going _outside_ and checking on Toothless and the pups. If you hadn't noticed, my dragon has been going bonkers without me to help. So . . . suck it up! I'm not going to bleed to death, infection stopped being a risk yesterday, and I am sick and tied of just _sitting_ here with nothing to do."

The blond twins were wide-eyed and shocked looking. Hiccup was usually a sweet, kind person with nary a harsh word. This was village wide knowledge! You had to really, _really_ push his buttons to tick him off. Apparently, they had succeeded.

"But-!" they protested once again in concert. Hiccup stalked up to them, interrupting them as he grabbed the front of their jerkins and pulled them down the four inches to his face level. "No_ buts_, Thorstens. I am going _outside_."

With that, he jerked them on down and stepped over them out the doorway, moving aside the heavy oaken wood slab that stood in for a door.

Ruff looked over at Tuff, her eyes mirroring his in bewildered confusion. What had just happened? Had _Hiccup_ just told _them_ off?

"Hiccup! _HICCUP!_" The young man turned to see Fishlegs stumbling up to him, a scroll in hand. "It's – it's from the mainland! The City Council is demanding a face-to-face meeting!" He gasped lightly, holding his side as a sharp pain worked it's way across his ribs. "I hate running!"

Hiccup laughed despite the less than pleasant news. "I know, Legs. I can't believe they didn't have a lower grunt do it."

Legs sighed and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. "About that. The new recruits pissed off your Fury. Toothless unleashed a mother's fury on their asses. And before you ask, they went to the nest sight intent of taking some eggs. I'm surprised that the most they have are first-degree burns and scratches." Hiccup groaned into his hands as he stared up sightlessly. Fishlegs snorted in amusement at the turmoil. "Hey, it could have been worse!" he chirped almost cheerfully.

"How, Legs? How could it have been _worse_?"

"They could be permanently maimed or dead!" Hiccup threw a glare at the too chirpy viking. Damn him for finding this funny. Damn him, damn him, _damn_ him! No matter that it was kind of funny.

"Fine," he conceded. It wasn't gracious, for sure, but he forgave Legs for being a right prat about the situation. "Let me take care of Toothless first, grunts after that, and _then_ I will deal with the bad news from the mainland. Thor's Hammer! Why does this dragon shite keeping happening to me?"

"You're Odin's Whipping – whoops! Let's rephrase that, you're Odin's _Messenger_ boy." Legs was grinning and raising his brows in suggestive wiggles. Hiccup grinned back wickedly before kicking the ever-lovin'-tar out of Fishlegs' shin. He whistled on his way to the nest, the whimpering cry of his tall blond buddy music to his ears.

"Hey, Toothless!" the red haired viking-that-wasn't called to his reptilian friend. The Night Fury bounced from the cave entrance, her chirping squeal happy as she tackled her human. "Ow! Hey! That hurt, you crazy dragon!" The tongue trying to smother his face stopped any other intelligible words though an "EW!" was heard in there somewhere.

"Ger'roff!"he growled, shoving his buddy off him as best as he could. She relented and even stemmed the tide of her young. "Thanks, Toothless. Gah, my side still hurts like dragon fire."

Quickly tending to the young Furies, he begged off to the village, only the largest young male accompanying him. "Quetzl (Ket-zul)! Don't eat that, you silly thing! Now come on, you wanted to visit the humans, you gotta stay with me." Hiccup sighed as he covered his eyes, hand on his hip. It seemed as if this young male was out to ruin the village . . . or just the Belfor House. He needed to see the newest recruits and read the damned scroll and he'd then sit his ass down and take a nap or something that didn't require tons of angst and anguish on his part. Why was this so complicated?

"If you don't come on, I'm calling your mother to come get you and you won't leave the nest for a year!"

There was a scuttling sound as the Fury appeared at his side. He hid a grin. If he'd known that would work, he'd have done that months, hell, _two years_ ago! Smirking for all he was worth, the young man strolled down to the grunt training fields. Catching sight of the youngsters as they sparred and played with dulled blades and weapons, he saw them freeze at the sight of the Night Fury. Oh, this was going to be _so_ much _fun_. "Hello, recruits."

They all, well – not _saluted_ him – they kind of bowed meekly. Seriously, though, most of them were taller than he was. It was ridiculous, in his own opinion. He killed the Giant. So what? It mattered, kinda, but someone else could have done that, too! Though it could have been the Night Fury at his side. "Sorry about the mauling," he said. "However, you all knew better." His voice was suddenly stern as he looked at them all. "The last time someone tried to steal the eggs from Toothless's nest, they were in critical condition for eight months. Two of them will never walk again, not even with Viking stubbornness. She went light on you."

Quetzl came up and nudged him, using the green orbs to say _"Look, look over there!"_ without moving his head. Hiccup did to see one young hopeful, the smallest of the lot, looking on with awe and fear. He looked back at the dragon, the beast nearly vibrating with the need to bound over to the youth. "Friend of yours?" he whispered to the dragon. His face split in a smile, waving the Fury on. "Go on. Just don't scare the boy too bad."

Quetzl shot off, skipping over to the small boy, licking him full-faced. Hiccup had the hope that Quetzl had chosen his rider. "Quetzl! You have three hours. If Toothless comes to me looking for you, you'll be stuck at the nest for six months." When the dragon slumped over the youth, nearly knocking him flat, he whined piteously. Hiccup put his hands on his hips. "Oh no, that won't work on me, cub. I'm immune after dealing with your mother and all your siblings. That look simply does not work anymore." The huffing snort was pitiful – almost – but Hiccup looked at the boy. "Don't let Quetzl bully you for more time. He's a right pain so you have to be firm. Make him mind you."

Leaving a stunned bunch with instructions similar to babysitting, Hiccup whistled as he all but skipped away. That had been fun! And the looks on their faces! He wished he could capture them like that on paper.

His mood did take a dive when he felt the scroll slapping against his leg through the pouch it was in. Ah. He had nearly forgotten about the that.

Slipping into the Great Hall, he sat by the fire, reading by torch light. His frown deepened. This wasn't good. At all.

"Hiccup? I heard we had a missive."

The village chief walked in, the tall and broadly built giant of a man with tangled red hair and a beard that rest halfway down his barrel chest in braids. Stoic the Vast settled a huge hand on Hiccup's shoulder. "You have a troubled face."

Hiccup handed it over and rushed his fingers through his own red hair. The roar of primal viking rage shook the rafters as his father finished the missive. "Those, those! RAWWR! Those thrice Thor damned fools! They think they can order us – might Vikings – _about_? If they are so damned ready to fight, I'll give 'em a _WAR_!"

Hiccup jumped to his feet, standing in his father's path, arms crossed. "No, you won't," he uttered with the calm of a man that had been through hell and back. "You will send a representative to the City Council. We cannot afford a war, dragons or no. The entirety of our Vikings is smaller than the populace of the City. Berk is _small_, dad. We are but a speck on the world with how few people live here." He held up his hand, his father's face red with anger and the need to yell and rage and make war plans. Not this time. They would be wiped out in less than a year. "What we will do is send someone who can hold their temper. Preferably someone who is high up in the hierarchy of our village. It looks bad upon us if we send the mild maid as opposed to the heiress."

Stoic seemed to stew on this for several minutes, his dark eyes darting to Hiccup more than once as he stomped around and growled to himself. The giant of a man turned and pointed at Hiccup. "Fine! You want to play _nice_, we'll be _nice_," he bit out, the word nice sounding like a disease. "_YOU_ will go – and don't say you won't, son! You will do what you have to, talk them in circles, and keep our village safe. Take who you have to, but leave me some warriors." The man turned for the door, stalking out muttering viciously. "And take that _terror_ you call a Fury _with you_, Hiccup!" he roared as a last parting shot, the rafters shuddering when the door was slammed shut.

* * *

**A/N:** All I got for now. Sorry it took so long BullShite kept happening, not to mention that FF went berserk for like a week.


	11. Chapter 11 AN and Vote Winner

Okay, guys and gals.

In order:

Harry/Zim; Chapter 1 – there are so many votes in, the most I've ever seen. It won by one HELL of a landslide. Is it because you are all closet perverts or wut? LOL

Harry/JoJo; Chapter 6 – Unexpected, really. I was surprised. Maybe because I've yet to see this as a crossover …

Harry/Pagemaster/Petshop; Chapter 4 – I was hoping this one would be well liked. I'm quite fond of it. Not seen it yet either, to be truthful.

Now, for all the others, those will be written when they do, some before the ones set up just because the idea is plaguing me enough that writing anything else is impossible. I have a few more now ((dear God, what am I going to _do_ with them all? DX )) so we'll see what really actually gets done _First_ verses what is on the list. ((If you want to know, I have about 37 stories waiting to be written at one point or another and three or four oneshots.))

If anyone wants to see something really off the wall or just because, let me know and I'll say Aye or Naye.


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